


The Forming of Friendships

by AkozuHeiwa



Series: Voltron, Defender of the Universe: The Origins [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alchemist!Alfor, Alfor and Coran are best friends, Alfor is the youngest in this, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Gen, I just wanted a fic of their adventures and learning to love each other so I started one, I loved them, I loved this episode okay, Kinda Episodic, M/M, S3E7, Some Fluff, Some angst, Spoilers, obviously, oops my hand slipped, previous paladins, they deserve a show, until proven otherwise anyway
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-11 18:14:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 29,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11719806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkozuHeiwa/pseuds/AkozuHeiwa
Summary: When Prince Alfor of Altea is chosen to become part of the new Intrasystem Defence Alliance, he is both thrilled and hesitant. After all, he was no warrior. He doesn't expect to be able to live up to his father's - or his new allies' - expectations.Nevertheless, as he and his new allies grow closer, Alfor grows to love the Alliance and the bonds he is able to form - despite the hardships and challenges he has to face along the way.This is the story of the original paladins before they were paladins - before Voltron was even a vague idea in anyone's mind. This is the beginning.





	1. The Alliance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prince Alfor of Altea joins the Intrasystem Defence Alliance at his father's bidding.

The alliance was forming today.

The important alliance Alfor’s father had been talking about for phoebs now. The one including _leaders_ and _warriors_ and protecting the entire system. The one Alfor was joining- despite his protests and despite his stark inability to both _lead_ and _fight_.

“Chin up, Alfor!” Coran said brightly, as Alfor tried to give himself some sort of threatening aura or something in the mirror. “It’s a great honour that your father’s chosen you for the task! He could have chosen your sister just as easily!”

“He should have chosen my sister,” muttered Alfor, tugging at his collar.

“All the others will be in the same ship!” Coran encouraged.

“The one falling out of the sky?” Alfor clarified. “And you can’t prove that. The others will probably be- well, they won’t be up-and-coming _alchemists_ , for one, they’ll be soldiers and leaders, remember?”

“But they’ll need a good alchemist!” Coran chirped.

Alfor gave his best friend an exasperated look. “Coran, I’m _not_ a good alchemist.”

“Yes, you are!” the other countered. “Remember, you made me that whatchamacallit that broke me out of my _phase_. And you made that magic thingamabobble for Fala-”

Alfor’s cheeks heated up. “It wasn’t _magic_ -“

Coran waves him off. “These guys will love ya! Just don’t forget your old buddy Coran.”

“How could anyone forget you?” Alfor laughed. He sobered and glanced away. “I just hope I don’t mess this up. Father has been working for this alliance for forever it feels like.”

“If anyone can handle it, you can,” Coran assured him, laying a hand on Alfor’s shoulder. “And don’t worry. I’ll be there for support, and I took the liberty of inviting Fala-“

“What?” yelped Alfor, jumping away from his friend. “You invited _Fala_?”

“Yes?” said Coran. “You like her, don’t you?”

“Yes, but- but she doesn’t- I can’t let her see me fall on my face like this!” Alfor lamented. He dropped his head in defeat. “Now not only am I ruining Father’s important alliance, I’ll be making a fool of myself in front of Fala.”

Coran rolled his eyes and gave him a pointed look. “You’ll be _fine_ , Alfor- as long as you quit glowering at the mirror like that.”

Alfor sighed and turned around, trying to give himself some sort of confident, leader-like posture as he did. Coran gave him a large grin and held out his thumbs. Alfor stared at him.

“What are you doing?” he asked warily.

“I think it’ll be all the rage!” said Coran brightly. “I call it the hold-your-thumb-upwards-for-encouragement gesture!”

“Maybe shorten that to, like, thumbs up,” chuckled Alfor. “Well. Here goes nothing.”

 

 

Alfor was really quite glad the ceremony of the alliance was being held in a familiar place. Getting lost in his own home would be quite a feat, and even _he_ couldn’t manage that.

There were a lot of people in the crowd. Alfor ended up in the middle, with four other people who must have been the other four in the alliance. He caught sight of Coran and Fala nearby, and almost waved to them before he realised that this wasn’t the proper time for that. Fala caught him looking and offered a little smile and a wave, and Coran gave him that thumbs-up gesture again.

“So,” said the Galra, towering rather formally over Alfor. Actually, Alfor was definitely the shortest of them all, much to his chagrin. “You must be Prince Alfor of Altea.”

They recognised him, which he supposed was good, except he didn’t really recognise them.

“And you must be…?” he said awkwardly.

“Emperor Zarkon of Daibazaal,” the Galra said primly, as if Alfor should have recognised him right away.

“Hey,” said the Nalquodian, shooting Alfor a smile. “I’m Blaytz, good to meet you!”

“Um, you too,” said Alfor.

“I’m Gyrgan,” said the Rygnirathan, “of Rygnirath. It is a pleasure, Prince Alfor.”

“I am Trigel of the Dalterion Belt,” said the lady, inclining her head. “Your father did inform us that he would be sending you in his stead.”

Alfor tried to keep his smile plastered onto his face, even though he felt rather like panicking.

These were the leader-leaders of their worlds. Emperors and rulers. They were probably expecting his father, but instead got the alchemist prince who couldn’t fight to save his life.

So much for being on the same ship.

“Oh, um, it’s a pleasure to meet you as well, esteemed, um, colleagues?” Alfor mentally winced even as he said it. Colleagues? Really? Alfor was only a prince- they weren’t _colleagues_ -

“Indeed,” said Emperor Zarkon, an almost unnoticeable smile forming. “I look forward to working with you, and all my other… _colleagues_.”

Then he held out a hand. Alfor stared at it for a moment, before quickly reaching out and grasping the other’s arms. Another moment passed, and Emperor Zarkon released his arm. Alfor was thrilled- he hadn’t messed it up.

He hadn’t messed it up!

“Let it be known,” said Emperor Zarkon regally and loudly, “that henceforth, our system is protected and defended by the greatest warriors in the galaxy. Our alliance shall stand as a symbol and defender of peace and unity.”

The rest of the room applauded, but Alfor gave the others of the alliance an uneasy look.

They had to be aware that he wasn’t a fighter, right? Surely his father wouldn’t have left that important piece of information out.

Blaytz of Nalquod slapped a hand onto Alfor’s shoulder, nearly bowling him over.

“Ready to defend the system, princey?” he asked jovially, voice lower than the cheers but still loud enough for Alfor to hear.

Alfor laughed awkwardly. “Oh, yeah. Yeah. You have- you have _no_ idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so.
> 
> Yes I have another fic too. But I watched this episode and, well, I went and got attached. It was kind of alarming how fast I got attached to this lot. And I really really wanted to see their story. And hadn't yet. So, well, started writing it.
> 
> Some notes. I used the name Fala for Allura's mum based on the GoLion name for Allura. And I totally believe that Coran was Alfor's best friend- they had to be close, Alfor shoved him in the cryopod just like his daughter. You can't convince me they weren't close. I like to headcanon Alfor as the youngest, especially since he's so short in the scene with the alliance and then in a later scene he looks taller than Trigel? So in this he was still a dorky alchemist prince and it's gonna be a learning curve for my new son, okay? Also, I gave him a sister like in my other fic for some sort of continuity in my fics, but she won't be a major character probably?? My update schedule is irregular at best- it's a mess- so, like, I'll try to maybe alternate this and Light Years from Home evenly? 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed this little intro! I enjoyed writing it!


	2. In Which Alfor Should Think Before He Speaks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfor accidentally volunteers to fight the Marvids on Nalquod with the others, even though he can't fight to save his life.

There was some sort of feast shortly after the rest of the gritty details and alliance paper signings were finished. Alfor tried to edge his way out of the group to go sit with Coran and Fala, but the Nalquodian- Blaytz?- caught him by the shoulder.

“Sorry, kid, you gotta eat with us,” he said quietly. He shot Alfor a reassuring grin. “Don’t worry, we don’t bite- except maybe the Galra.”

“Blaytz, we are _allies_ ,” Emperor Zarkon gritted out.

“Except maybe my new buddy Zarkon,” Blaytz amended. Zarkon sighed in defeat.

They all sat down at the same table that Alfor’s father would usually sit at. Alfor watched enviously as his sister Alaea sat cheerily by Coran and Fala. Alfor’s father walked in and, unlike Alfor was expecting, sat with _Alfor’s_ friends. Alfor gave his father a put-out look the man didn’t see from across the room.

“I must admit,” said Trigel of the Dalterion Belt, “we were surprised when King Almir approached us and informed us of his decision to have you take his place in the alliance.”

“Ah,” said Alfor awkwardly. “I was just as surprised to arrive here and discover myself to be the only, ah, non-ruler. I was expecting military leaders and maybe other princes or princesses?”

“Your father did not inform you?” Emperor Zarkon asked, eyes widening slightly in surprise.

“How old are you, Prince Alfor?” rumbled Gyrgan curiously.

“Nineteen Altean deca-phoebs,” he replied promptly. “I know our planets all have different orbits, but I am not sure exactly how to convert.”

“That’s alright, kid,” said Blaytz. “Me and Zarkon over there are close to your age. Trigel and Gyrgan, on the other hand, they’re kind of old.”

“We are not old!” protested Gyrgan. “I am still in my prime! It is not my fault my species lives longer than yours.”

“I had not expected Almir’s son to still be a child,” mused Trigel.

Alfor bristled despite himself. Zarkon rested a hand on his shoulder.

“I am sure Prince Alfor is more than capable of our task,” he said solemnly, “regardless of his age.”

The others seemed to agree. Alfor wanted the floor to open up and swallow him. He could _probably_ stay behind the scenes. They could fight people, and he could make them high-tech alchemy weapons.

A plate was set in front of him. He recognised most of the food as Altean, but there were a couple of sides he didn’t know. Blaytz dug in with fervour. Alfor poked at one of the sides, and it squirmed alarmingly.

“I believe my food is still alive,” he said.

“Nah, it’s a cool trick,” said Blaytz. “It’s Nalquodian, so I should know.”

“Ah,” said Alfor awkwardly.

Zarkon took a calm bite of the Nalquodian dish, frowned, and turned his attention to the rest of the plate rather pointedly.

“I believe our first mission as an alliance should be to take out the Qadorian bandits harassing Galra trade vessels,” he said, voice diplomatic. Trigel and Gyrgan nodded slowly. Blaytz scowled and slammed down his fork.

“And what of the Marvids terrorising the villages in the western province Nalquod?” he challenged. “They’ve been there much longer than the Qadorians, and my people are dying, if not from their attacks then from starvation!”

Alfor looked between them worriedly. He was aware that Nalquod and Daibazaal had been at war for ages now, but he also knew they’d signed a peace treaty and agreed to join in the alliance without any argument. He hadn’t expected the tension between the two leaders.

“Blaytz speaks true,” said Gyrgan. “The Marvid scourge has been on Nalquod for too long, and I fear their spread to Rygnirath.”

“Yes,” said Trigel, “but many societies in our system depend on Galran trade, including many in the Dalterion Belt.”

All eyes fell on Alfor. He swallowed.

“Ah,” he said, “well, Galran military prowess is much more significant than Nalquodian, or from what I’ve read, and the Marvids do seem to be the most pressing matter at the moment. My opinion is that we work to eliminate the, er, Marvid scourge before more life is lost. And if Emperor Zarkon needs the aid in the meantime, I am sure my father would gladly provide it. Escorts and such until the Qadorian bandits can be taken care of.”

Zarkon gave him an appraising look. Blaytz looked pleased.

Alfor really hated politics.

“Very well thought out,” Zarkon finally said. “That is what we will do.”                          

“Even five of the best warriors cannot eliminate the Marvid scourge alone,” said Trigel softly.

Alfor winced at this and had to agree. Even five of the best couldn’t do much on their own, and they didn’t even have five of the best. They had four of the best and an up-and-coming alchemist.

“We will have the Nalquodian military,” said Blaytz.

“I can easily ask Father for support from Altea,” Alfor pitched in.

“If King Almir can aid my troops in escorting the trade vessels, then I can spare some to aid at Nalquod,” said Zarkon. Blaytz gave him a shocked look. “We are allies now. I cannot in good conscience leave an ally’s people to die.”

“Rygnirath will also be able to aid you,” said Gyrgan.

Trigel nodded. “And the Dalterion Belt. Prince Alfor, that was a good solution.”

“Oh, uh, thanks,” said Alfor.

“Good,” said Zarkon. “How long do we all need to prepare? I would like to wage the attack as soon as possible.”

“Six or seven quintants,” said Trigel.

Gyrgan and Blaytz both nodded.

“Ah, I have to ask Father, but I expect he’ll agree. It will not take us longer than three or four quintants to prepare our military. If you want me to make any alchemic weapons or anything for you, I would say ten quintants.”

They all stared at him.

“Almir did not inform us that you were skilled in alchemy!” Gyrgan exclaimed.

“Ah,” said Alfor, “what _did_ my father tell you about me?”

“We were told that you are very intelligent, very brave, and someone we can count on in the midst of battle,” said Trigel. “High praise from the King of Altea.”

“Yeah, a tad too high,” Alfor muttered under his breath.

“I may take you up on your offer later,” said Zarkon, “but we must be quick to defeat the Marvids, so I believe we will all use our own weapons for the time being.”

“What weapon do you use, kid?” Blaytz asked.

“My father taught me some swordplay,” he said as quietly as he could manage, sinking into his seat.

“Are you skilled enough to fight the Marvids?” asked Trigel, brow furrowing. “You are young, and have little experience. Perhaps-“

“No- I-“ Alfor glanced over at his father, and mentally sighed. “I can handle it.”

 

 

“ _You_ can handle the _Marvids_.”

Alfor buried his face in his hands. After the feast and a few more political pleasantries, Alfor had finally been allowed to return to his quarters. His friends and sister had come to find him, and Alfor had explained to them everything that had been discussed. Alaea, to no one’s shock, was livid to hear that her brother had basically signed himself to go fight on the front lines on Nalquod.

“I didn’t want to disappoint Father,” he said. “And I do know some swordplay.”

“Alfor, you can barely beat the gladiator in the training arena _at level five_ ,” she stressed. “I was beating level five when I was ten!”

“Yes, rub it in,” he grumbled.

“Cheer up!” said Coran. “I bet King Almir is just trying to get Alfor out of the lab and onto the battlefield! You ought to know some fighting as king!”

“That’s definitely what he’s doing,” sighed Alaea. “But when he finds out you’re going to be fighting the Marvids in _seven quintants_?”

Coran winced and patted him on the shoulder. “It was nice knowing you, my old friend.”

“Just try to stay out of the actual fighting,” suggested Fala. “Perhaps you can help in the medical tent if they have one.”

“Or purposefully get injured and get stuck in the medical tent with your injury,” added Coran brightly. “They probably can’t send you back out if you get stabbed or shot or something.”

“The whole point of him hiding in the medical tent is so he doesn’t get stabbed or shot or something,” said Alaea dryly. “Perhaps Father will simply tell him no and be done with it.”

“I can’t see myself being that lucky,” said Alfor.

As if on cue, there was a sharp rap at the door and Alfor’s father walked in. Alfor straightened immediately

“Hello, Father,” said Alaea. “Do you need us to leave?”

“For now,” he agreed. “Don’t stray too far- I only wish to talk to your brother a moment.”

She nodded, and ushered Coran and Fala out of the room, shooting Alfor a ‘good luck’ glance before she left. Alfor went to stand, but his father chuckled and shook his head, instead sitting beside him on the bed.

“Good evening, Father,” Alfor said.

“You did very well out there, my son,” said Father proudly. “I knew I had made the right decision in choosing you for the alliance.”

“Yes, I’m still somewhat doubting that,” muttered Alfor.

Father chuckled again. “It will be a learning process. Lady Trigel informed me that you solved a conflict between Emperor Zarkon and King Blaytz today?”

“Ah,” said Alfor. “Yes. Sort of. And caused all sorts of problems for myself in the process. They were trying to decide our first… mission. Emperor Zarkon wanted to take care of the Qadorian bandits-“

“As I expected,” said Father.

“-and Blaytz wanted to get rid of the Marvids,” continued Alfor. “And Lady Trigel agreed with Zarkon and Gyrgan with Blaytz. So I suggested escorts for the Galran trade ships while we take care of the Marvids. I might have volunteered our military to help with both tasks, but I did say I would ask you.”

Father was nodding slowly. “Yes. Yes, that does seem the best plan. I assume you will be sitting out this fight? Or is it far enough away that you will be able to learn how to properly fight in time?”

Alfor winced. “If I can learn in seven quintants, then yes, it’s far enough away.”

Father was silent for a moment.

“I told them I could handle it,” Alfor admitted in a small voice.

“That does not surprise me,” Father said. “We will see. For the next seven quintants you will train, and if and only if I deem you ready, you will fight. If not, then I will not allow you to. I had anticipated you facing the Qadorians first- you are far more skilled as a pilot than a warrior on the ground. I wanted you in the alliance so you could grow- not so you could die.”

Alfor winced again. His father rested a hand on his shoulder.

“I stand by my earlier words,” he said. “You did very well. Your solution was logical and well-thought out for everyone except you, which shows good leadership. You put others before yourself.”

“Do you think I’ll be ready in seven quintants?” Alfor asked.

“The Marvids are dangerous foes,” said Father slowly, “and even if you were ready I would not particularly want you to fight them in your first battle. They are ruthless and deadly.”

Alfor nodded in resignation, but his Father wasn’t finished yet.

“Despite this, I know you well,” Father gave him a grim smile. “It is not going to be a matter of if I think you are ready. If you have made up your mind to fight this battle, then there is nothing I can do short of locking you in a _dungeon_ to prevent you from fighting.”

Alfor stared at his father for a moment, before nodding again. “I- thank you, Father. I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t,” said Father, smile warming.

Alfor wished he could have as much faith in himself as his father did, because, at this point, he was almost one hundred percent sure he was making the biggest- and last- mistake of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huh well that was quickly written. Alfor and the other old paladins have stolen my heart and all my attention with it! Thank you guys so much for reading!! <3
> 
> Headcanons in this chapter:
> 
> Nalquod and Daibazaal had been the ones warring for generations, just based on the image when Coran said it. I saw Blaytz fighting what looked like Galra robots or warriors. It also adds fun tension to the group.
> 
> It took me ages to name Alfor's dad, but I continued the whole Al- names thing because it felt right?
> 
> Alfor is the youngest, then Blaytz, then Zarkon, then Trigel, then Gyrgan. I don't have much to base this on, actually, but it felt right.
> 
> I totally made up Qadorian bandits and the Marvids.
> 
> Alfor is stubborn and reckless and you can pry that headcanon out of my cold dead hands.


	3. Training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfor and Blaytz train together, and Blaytz realises just how inexperienced the Altean prince is.

Alfor really _should_ have been training as soon as he got up the next day, but instead he found himself once more in his lab. His thought process was pretty simple: if he made himself good enough armour and a good enough weapon, he should be just fine.

He was actually just going to adjust the armour his father had made him wear to the alliance meeting yesterday. Make it stronger and maybe mess with it until it could deflect attacks or something. As for his weapon, he’d obviously use a sword. And he could easily make a decent sword in seven quintents.

“Well done last night,” a sudden voice snapped him out of his concentration, and he nearly left a scorch mark on the front of his armour as he jumped.

“Honerva!” he exclaimed in surprise. “You were there, then?”

She laughed. “Of course I was, I and several other alchemists.”

“You and the others are the best,” he said warmly, returning his attention to his armour.

“So what new project are you working on now?” she asked. “And will it shoot lasers constantly like the last one?”

“That was not what I meant for it to do,” he protested. “And no, I’m simply strengthening this armour so I don’t get killed on Nalquod.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Nalquod? I had heard King Almir was sending troops, but I did not imagine he would send _you_.”

“Comes with the alliance, I suppose,” said Alfor, grimacing. “Once this armour is strengthened and I forge my sword, I should be alright. And train. I must also train.”

She shook her head. “You could have asked one of us to strengthen your armour and forge you a sword while you train.”

“No, that’s quite alright,” he said.

“You made quite an impression,” she said. “I believe even Emperor Zarkon liked you, and I previously believed he did not have feelings.”

“You’ve interacted with Emperor Zarkon before?” Alfor asked incredulously.

“No,” she said, “but I’ve seen the man.”

“Ah, Honerva, you can’t simply judge based on appearance!” Alfor chided teasingly.

“I knew you were a total dork based on appearance,” she said innocently. “Get your armour done, Alfor, then go train some. There are swords you can use if you do not complete yours. Experience is invaluable and you, my friend, have none.”

Alfor sighed. “You’re correct as usual, Honerva. Very well. I will go train after I finish my armour.”

 

 

He had mostly finished his armour by midday, and so he grabbed something to eat before he headed to the training arena. He had also donned his armour to get used to moving in it- and make sure it worked.

“Start training level three,” said Alfor warily. He could usually managed level three. The gladiator bot popped up from the floor and promptly started attacking him. Alfor parried its blow with the sword he’d borrowed from the armoury. He and the bot continued in this vein for several minutes, before Alfor finally succeeded in knocking the gladiator off its feet. He breathed a sigh in relief and pushed his hair out of his face.

“Neat area you’ve got here,” came a new voice. Alfor spun around in alarm. Blaytz was standing off the side, arms crossed and smile on his face. “So you can use a sword, kid! Well done.”

“Thanks,” he said, deciding against telling him that most Altean children could manage that level.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked. “Don’t want to get rusty, and it’ll be good to work on our teamwork- after all, we’re a team now.”

“Sure, if you’d like,” said Alfor. “I hadn’t even known you were still on Altea.”

“Yeah, we’re leaving tonight,” said Blaytz. “One of my ships still needed some repairs and Altea has some of the best mechanics this side of the Dalterion Belt.”

Alfor nodded. “My best friend’s father is very good mechanic, he helps fix up the castle whenever it goes weird. His grandfather built it.”

“And you’re interested in alchemy, right?” said Blaytz.

Alfor nodded, smiling brightly. “I’m not half bad at it if I say so myself, even if half of my creations do things I didn’t expect them to do. I’m going to make my own sword for the battle, and I already tweaked my armour so that it would do a better job keeping me alive.”

Blaytz frowned,  eyes narrowing worriedly. “Is this going to be your first actual battle, kid?”

Alfor shrugged. “Am I that obvious?”

“You certainly don’t carry yourself like a soldier,” admitted Blaytz. “You’re sure about this? We won’t think less of you if you sit this one out. The Marvids… they’re nothing to scoff at.”

“I’ve made up my mind,” said Alfor. “I’m part of this alliance, therefore I should be part of the fight. My armour _should_ protect me enough.”

Blaytz observed him for a second, before shaking his head. “Alright. How do we get that robot going?”

“Oh, right, well, what level were you wanting?” Alfor asked.

Blaytz blinked. “Something that’s a challenge, I suppose. Which do you usually use?”

“That won’t be a challenge for you,” said Alfor. “If anything, you should do level fifteen like my sister. I’ve, um, currently never made it past five.”

“What do you say we try ten?” he suggested. “Harder than you’re used to, but we’re working together, so it should be a breeze!”

“Alright,” said Alfor unsurely. “Commence training level ten.”

Two robots. There were _two robots_ this time.

Of course there were.

Alfor mentally coached himself as they lunged. Parry blows, don’t get stabbed, protect your teammate, dodge unless it would leave your teammate dead- crud, _dodge now, dodge now_!

He dove out of the way, then rose to parry the next robot’s blows. Blaytz was easily taking care of the first robot with his dual swords, reminding Alfor just how unskilled he actually was.

The gladiator bot knocked into Alfor, sending him flying backwards to hit the ground with a painful thud. The bot rushed forward, its sword drawn, and Alfor struggled to block the blow with his own weapon, still on the ground.

“Kid!” exclaimed Blaytz in alarm.

The bot lifted its sword and made to strike again. Alfor panicked.

“End training sequence!” he yelped. The bot promptly shut down, and Alfor stayed where he was, propped on his elbows and breathing heavily. The bot, though powered down, still loomed over him threateningly. Blaytz ran over to him and kneeled beside him, face painted with worry. The Nalquodian’s eyes scanned Alfor as if looking for injury, but aside from scuff marks on his armour (he’d have to fix that) Alfor knew he’d find nothing.

“Shoot, kid, I didn’t realise the bots would split us up like that,” he said. “We should have started lower- you’re not a warrior- are you okay? Do you need a doctor or anything?”

“I’m fine- I’m fine,” Alfor assured him, ignoring the sting of hurt that came with Blaytz pointing out his inability to fight. “Just- give me a moment. Sorry I left you alone with the other one-“

“Ah, kid,” said Blaytz, fins almost flat against his head. He offered Alfor a hand and helped him stand up. Alfor winced and stretched his probably bruised arm, frustrated that even working with someone he couldn’t complete level ten.

“Sorry,” muttered Alfor again. “I better go. It was nice training with you, Blaytz.”

“Kid, wait-“ Blaytz protested, but Alfor was already out of the room.

 

 

Alfor quickly found himself back in his lab after changing out of his armour. He’d spent a few moments inspecting the bruise blossoming on his shoulder, before deciding to ignore it and get working on his sword.

If the fight in the training arena was any indication of how the actual battle would go, then Alfor wouldn’t last five doboshes. He’d probably be the first person dead on the entire battlefield.

“I should ask Coran if I can install the stuff they use in the healing pods into my armour,” he muttered to himself.

“Thought you were fine,” said Blaytz’s voice. Alfor jumped about a foot in the air and turned to face the Nalquodian king, nearly knocking everything off of his work table and onto the floor. He scrambled to catch his supplies, and Blaytz rushed over to help him.

“What are you- how did you get into my lab?” he demanded.

“Told your father I wanted to check on you,” said Blaytz, placing the supplies he’d grabbed back onto the table, “like a good teammate, yeah? So. Thought you said you were fine.”

“I am fine,” Alfor insisted. “I bruised my shoulder a tad, and I was thinking ahead about how likely it is that I’ll be stabbed or something.”

“We’ll protect you better than I did in that training sequence,” Blaytz assured him. He eyed him worriedly. “Only a tad?”

“Yes,” said Alfor exasperatedly. “Did you really think I was seriously injured and wouldn’t tell someone? Is that why you came to check on me?”

Blaytz shifted awkwardly. “I was mostly worried I pushed you too hard, going straight to level ten like that. I wasn’t really thinking, I guess-”

“I need to be pushed hard, I’ll be fighting the Marvids in, what, six quintants now?” said Alfor evenly, gathering the last of his dropped supplies and putting them back on the table. He leaned on it a moment, brow furrowed and looking straight ahead, pointedly not at Blaytz. “My father believed in me enough to sign me up for this alliance.”

“He told me he didn’t particularly want you fighting the Marvids,” Blaytz challenged.

Alfor groaned and turned to face the Nalquodian. “I’m part of this alliance. I’m fighting. I’m not a little kid, so don’t treat me like one. Are you going to try to stop me? I’m not _your_ son.”

Blaytz sighed. “Alright, kid- Alfor. I understand. Heh, I was like you not too long ago myself. I mean, granted, my father had me training since birth to be a warrior- with the war with the Galra and all. I had to be prepared to fight and prepared to- you know- lose people.”

His face fell, his fins drooping. Alfor winced; Blaytz seemed like a pretty cool guy, and it seemed like Alfor was making a terrible impression right off the bat. He awkwardly returned his attention to his weapon-in-progress.

“I was surprised to find out both Nalquod and Daibazaal would be part of the alliance,” Alfor admitted softly, “but I was also really glad. We all kind of hated reading about your war. Father’s always believed all the societies in our system should try to be allies. There are so many threats from the outside- like the Marvids and the Qadorians- it’s why he pushed this alliance so hard. I don’t know why he decided five people would make a good defence task force, or especially why he thought I’d make a good addition, but I do know this alliance is a good thing and- and I’m glad to be a part of it. To be able to make our system a better and more peaceful place.“

He was very aware that the Nalquodian was staring at him, so he tried very hard to focus on what he was doing. He wondered if he could install lasers into his sword. Or a particle barrier.

“You’re a good kid, Alfor,” said Blaytz finally. “If you’re up for it later… I’d be glad to teach you some of the things my father taught me about fighting.”

Alfor stiffened and glanced at him in surprise. “Truly?”

Blaytz grinned at him. “I’ve always wanted to give teaching a shot. And an actual person is always a better teacher than a robot trying to kill you.”

Alfor stared at him, before managing a small smile of his own.

“Well- thanks, Blaytz,” he said, glancing back at the scraps of metal- soon to be sword- on his table. “I think I’ll take you up on that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't mean for this chapter to be pretty much all Alfor and Blaytz bonding but it was. Oh well, Blaytz seems like the one that would reach out first anyway. I also didn't know whether to say fins or ears? I stuck with fins because it felt right to me.
> 
> I took the line "You are much more knowledgeable as an alchemist than a soldier." and ran with it, by the way. Alfor is still working on this whole fighting thing. He's trying. If the new Paladins could manage learning to fight as fast as they did, he can too. 
> 
> Honerva was in this one too! They seemed to know each other pretty well. I made her older than him but still close in age- at this point, she is already an alchemist and he is not quite.
> 
> Hope you guys liked this chapter! I had fun writing the Blaytz and Alfor interactions!


	4. Preparing for War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfor tries to alternate forging his sword and training on the training deck in the seven quintants leading up to the fight against the Marvids.

“Well,” said Alfor, holding out his new sword proudly, “what do you think?”

Coran peered at it. “Hmm. Hmm. _Hmm_.”

Blaytz had spent most of the evening before giving Alfor all sorts of fighting tips and tricks and techniques. While it had been a great learning experience, it left Alfor with less time than he’d wanted to work on his sword. He ended up staying up incredibly late getting it started, and then forced himself to get up incredibly early so he could say goodbye to his new friend as he left. He’d spent the rest of the morning working on the sword, and he thought he had a pretty good prototype done.

“Coran,” prompted Alfor.

“It’s a very nice…” Coran paused, and narrowed his eyes. “It’s very nice. What is it, exactly?”

“Wha- it’s a sword!” Alfor exclaimed.

Coran blinked. “Well, I take it back. It looks nothing like a sword.”

Alfor groaned, then determinedly brandished his new weapon as if to fight with it. “See? It’s a sword. For- for stabbing. And slashing. And the like.”

“Where’s the sharp part?” Coran stage-whispered.

“It’s- what do you mean, where’s the sharp part?” Alfor scoffed. “It’s- it’s plenty sharp, I sharpened it myself! I made it with the very best materials I had access to, and Honerva approved my sketch.”

Coran raised his eyebrows, then ran a finger down the sharp edge of the blade. He glance at his hand, then shook his head, making a disapproving tutting noise.

“Not even a scratch!” he declared.

Alfor scowled. “Fine. I’ll keep working on it. But it does look like a sword.”

“This your sketch?” Coran asked, snatching a piece of paper off the table. “Hmm. Looks nothing like the sketch either!”

Alfor snatched the paper away from him, then glanced at it, and to his sword. He deflated.

“I am not a blacksmith,” he said.

“I can tell,” said Coran brightly. “If you’re so determined to make your own sword, maybe you should go talk to someone who actually knows how! My uncle, for example, now there’s a blacksmith- why-“

“It’s not done,” decided Alfor. “I still have six more quintants to get it done.”

“Five,” Coran reminded him. “You promised your father you’d spend at least half of today training, and it’s already nearly lunch! Besides, didn’t you promise King Blaytz you’d try out some of those techniques he taught you last night?”

“I can skip lunch,” said Alfor after a moment’s debate in his head. “And then I will go train.”

“Ah-ah-ah,” said Coran. “You already skipped breakfast today!”

“I’ll eat a big dinner,” Alfor said, unceremoniously throwing his disaster of a sword onto his worktable. “I need to get this sword done, really, and then I need to test it and-“

“Alfor, even you can’t finish making a proper sword in a couple of vargas,” said Coran exasperatedly, “not least of all on an empty stomach! As your best friend and unofficial advisor, I order you to come with me and get food.”

“I don’t have time for food right now, Coran,” Alfor snapped. Coran looked mildly surprised, and Alfor immediately felt bad and dropped his gaze. “Go find Alaea or something. I’ll see you at dinner.”

Coran sighed in defeat. “Alright, Alfor. Until dinner, then.”

 

 

In his defence, he hadn’t known he’d missed dinner until his father came to find him in the training deck. He’d been in the middle of getting his butt kicked at level seven- still better than he’d ever managed before, he’d even completed level six- when-

“End training sequence,” his father’s voice rang out. The bot promptly deactivated. Alfor, despite himself, plopped onto the ground, breathing heavily. His prototype sword disaster clattered to the ground next to him.

“I could have beaten it,” Alfor said.

“I never said otherwise,” Father said. “I brought you some food. Your friend Coran was quite upset that you didn’t show for dinner.”

“I missed dinner?” Alfor asked in surprise. “Oh. I hadn’t realised.”

“I had assumed as much,” said Father in amusement. “You should not eat on the training deck.”

“In other words, you would like me to _leave_ the training deck,” said Alfor in amusement. “Very well. But I do need to keep training after I eat.”

He left the training deck and joined his father, who passed him the plate of food. Alfor hadn’t realised how hungry he actually was until the food was in his hands and he could actually eat it. He sat down on the steps and started eating.

“Coran tells me you haven’t eaten all day,” Father said rather disapprovingly.

“I had a snack,” Alfor said through his mouthful of food. He _had_ had a snack- Honerva had forced it on him when she was checking over his sketch last night, and he hadn’t eaten all of it so had been able to much on it while working today.

Father sighed and sat next to him.

“Alfor, I understand that you wish to be ready for the upcoming battle, but starved and sleep-deprived is quite the opposite,” he said.

Alfor swallowed before speaking this time. “We’re six quintants out from the battle. I can get sleep the quintant before.”

“You will fall ill,” said Father. “If you fall ill, I will hand you over to the healers and we will see you try to escape _them_.”

Alfor sighed. “Yes, Father. But-“

“No more training for tonight,” said Father. “You were doing very well from what I saw. You may spend some time on your sword, but I will come and find you if it gets too late.”

“I am no longer a child,” grumbled Alfor.

“Then I suggest you start acting like a functioning adult,” his father said sternly, though the smile pulling at his lips told Alfor his father wasn’t too angry with him.

“If I don’t train I will be killed on Nalquod,” argued Alfor. “I don’t think either of us particularly want that.”

“I don’t particularly want you _fighting_ on Nalquod,” Father pointed out.

“You wanted me in the alliance,” said Alfor. He stood abruptly. “I’m going to my lab now. Thank you for bringing me something to eat.”

Father sighed. “Anytime, my son.”

 

 

Alfor kept an eye on the time to be sure his father wouldn’t have to come drag him away from the lab. _That_ would be one of the most embarrassing things to ever happen.

The next several quintants passed much the same way, though Alfor did make an effort to attend every meal (it wasn’t the best effort he could have made, and he wasn’t always successful, but it was an effort and both his Father and Coran seemed to appreciate it). By the quintant before the battle, he could finally make it all the way up to level ten on the training deck and, best of all, his sword was complete.

“Now what do you think?” Alfor asked, offering his sword to Coran.

Coran took it, and examined it.

“Well, it looks like a sword now,” he said finally. “What’s this glowy bit down the centre?”

Alfor grinned. “Ah, that’s the best part! My father’s scientists have been experimenting with quintessence as an energy source-“

“Quintessence!” exclaimed Coran in shock. “How do they gain access to it?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” Alfor admitted. “Something complicated about distilling it I believe, _but_ I found a way around that. You know the ritual Father has to do for a Balmera after we get a crystal?”

Coran nodded. “The one he’s been training you to do?”

“Exactly,” said Alfor. “I used a modified version of that precise ritual in order to give my sword just a bit of quintessence and-“

Coran’s face automatically turned disapproving. “Alfor, the scientist’s experiments are one thing, but experimenting with your _own_ quintessence-“

“Relax, Coran, I didn’t do anything dangerous,” Alfor assured his friend. “Now, I’ve tested the sword, and it worked at least ten times better for me than any other sword I’ve ever used, and I _believe_ it has something to do with the quintessence. I’m eager to see if it has any other abilities I haven’t discovered yet-“

“Like the music box that shot lasers?” suggested Coran.

“Yes- _no_ ,” said Alfor. “No, nothing like that.”

Coran snapped his fingers. “The food reheater that made your food toxic!”

“ _No_ , useful abilities,” Alfor said. “And how was I supposed to know the molecules in that particular dish would become toxic when overheated? My sword won’t do any of that.”

“Your projects tend to have negative side-effects,” mused Coran. “You’re sure your quintessence sword won’t drain your energy and kill you?”

“I am ninety-three percent sure,” said Alfor.

“Is your father aware of your _enhancements_?” asked Coran.

Alfor winced. “No.”

Coran raised an eyebrow. “Will your father be made aware of your enhancements?”

“No,” said Alfor. “Well. If everything goes well, then maybe. If it goes completely downhill, you’ve my permission to tell him, as well.”

As if on cue, the door to Alfor’s lab opened and his father stepped in. Alfor snatched his sword back from Coran and gave his father his most innocent smile.

“Hello, Father,” he said.

“Hello, your majesty,” Coran chirped.

“Alfor, Coran,” said Father, giving them a smile. “Alfor, my son. I presume you still plan to go to Nalquod tomorrow.”

Coran gave him a worried look.

“Yes, Father,” Alfor said.

Father nodded grimly. “Then today I wish to test your skills.”

Alfor was taken aback at this, even though he kind of expected it.

“Will I be fighting the gladiator bot?” Alfor asked hesitantly.

“No,” said Father. “You will be fighting me. Come.”

“You’ve lived a good nineteen deca-phoebs,” Coran said pityingly.

Alfor nodded, and they followed his father out of the lab to the training deck. His father had his own sword. Alfor had his quintessence-enhanced sword that he sincerely hoped wouldn’t do anything insane during his father’s “test.”

“Coran, will you keep time?” called Father.

“Absolutely, your majesty!” Coran said brightly. “How long?”

“Ten doboshes,” Father decided. “Alfor? Are you ready?”

“Yes,” Alfor said carefully.

“Very well,” he said. “Begin.”

There was nothing more terrifying, Alfor decided, than having your father rush at you with a sword.

Alfor quickly brought up his own to counter, pushing his father back and jumping out of the way. They continued in this vein for what felt to Alfor like several doboshes, before Father snapped out, “Offensive, son, at least try to go on the offensive!”

That was the last thing Alfor wanted to do, but he gave a fierce war cry and ran at his father anyway. The older man promptly disarmed him, much to Alfor’s chagrin, and seemed about to call time when Alfor unabashedly kicked him in the legs, then slid to grab his sword while his father fell to a knee.

“Sorry!” Alfor yelled.

His father laughed. “Very nice!”

Alfor decided he was absolutely no good at going on the offensive, and so continued to stick to the defensive. He knew there was absolutely no way he was going to beat his father, but maybe if he could keep himself from losing, then he’d stand a chance against the Marvids tomorrow.

“Time!” Coran suddenly yelled.

Alfor and his father both turned to look at him, swords locked against each other. Father chuckled and fell into a relaxed stance. Alfor huffed out a breath of relief and fell onto the floor rather roughly.

“I didn’t lose,” he said in shock.

“You didn’t win either,” said his father evenly.

“I did not have to,” said Alfor, letting out a breathy laugh. “I survived, and that’s the point, isn’t it?”

Father smiled and offered him a hand. “I suppose it is.”

“Do you think I stand half a chance against the Marvids now?” he asked meekly.

Father’s face fell, but he nodded solemnly. “I think you just might.”

“I think I am going to get some sleep now,” said Alfor.

“You look like you’re about to collapse,” said Coran worriedly. “I’ll walk you back.”

“Thanks,” he said. He waved to his father, and he and Coran turned to leave.

“Alfor,” his father called.

Alfor turned to face him questioningly.

“Promise me you will be careful out there,” Father said.

Alfor gave him a grim smile. “Don’t worry. I will.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was lots of Alfor and Coran bonding, some Alfor and his dad bonding, and basically Alfor trying to prepare to fight big bad guys next chapter. Believe it or not I've got a plan sort of for this? So yay!
> 
> So the whole quintessence thing- I wasn't entirely sure about it, but based on the episode, I don't think they were using it for energy for long? And not very successfully. But it also made sense that Alfor would experiment (recklessly) with it. And his weapon glows so like. I went for it. I hope it's not too out there XDD. 
> 
> Alfor is also basically me in that he forgets about food in this chapter. 
> 
> Hope you guys like it! Love you all!! <3


	5. The Battle for Nalquod: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Intrasystem Alliance goes to fight the Marvids; Alfor is unsurprisingly woefully underprepared.

“That’s a Marvid.”

“Yes.”

“ _That_. I have to fight _that_.”

“You have to fight more than one of them, but, yes.”

Alfor leaned back in his seat in shock. Beside him, piloting the ship they were on, Blaytz gave him a semi-amused, semi-worried look. Since the Alteans were mostly providing air support and not ground support, Blaytz had decided to bring a pod and pick up Alfor for the battle himself. Somewhere between Altea and Nalquod, Alfor had the bright idea to ask what exactly the Marvids were, since he hadn’t been sure and hadn’t had time to look it up himself.

“No one told me they were big, muscly fighting machines of _death_ ,” said Alfor, gesturing to the hologram in front of him.

“Somewhere between training and sword-forging you should have found time to research them,” Blaytz said almost chidingly.

“I barely found time to eat,” grumbled Alfor.

“Well, now you know,” said Blaytz. “They’ve got natural armour, so you’ll have to hit their weak spots if you want to kill them.”

“Kill them?” repeated Alfor after a moment.

“What did you think we’d be doing?” said Blaytz. “Asking them nicely to stop destroying my villages? These guys are built for war.”

Alfor didn’t much like the thought of killing anyone, even ruthless war machines like the Marvids. He hit a button and the hologram highlighted their unfortunately minimal weak spots.

“Eyes, neck, and inside the major joints,” Blaytz recited without even looking. “If you can get ‘em in the gills, even better. A really strong and experienced soldier might be able to injure them elsewhere, and even most trained soldiers can leave some scratches, but, ah-“

“Yes, yes,” said Alfor. “I am neither.”

Blaytz chuckled. “It’s not too late for you to sit this out, kid.”

“I expect I’ll be fine, Blaytz,” said Alfor. “I’ve enhanced this armour almost tenfold- strengthened it mostly, and while it won’t hold up against any sort of proper gun or anything like that, it should prevent me from getting stabbed. I also believe my quintessence-enhanced sword should give me the upper hand-“

“Quintessence-enhanced?” repeated Blaytz.

Alfor only then remembered he wasn’t talking to Coran, but rather to a somewhat-responsible-seeming adult.

“Ah, nothing important,” he quickly denied.

Blaytz didn’t seem too convinced, but he shrugged anyway and let the subject go.

“Here’s hoping this all goes well,” muttered Blaytz. “My advisors have been harping at me since I joined the alliance- no one is very pleased I’m allying myself with a Galra, but Zarkon’s not his father and I’m not mine. I don’t know what my father might have done in my place. Not this. It’ll be the first good thing I’ve managed as king.”

“Was it-“ Alfor hesitated. “Was it the Marvids that killed your father?”

Blaytz’s face fell. “No, it wasn’t. My father never paid them much mind.”

“Ah,” said Alfor awkwardly. He remembered when the old king of Nalquod had died- almost three deca-phoebs ago, now- but had never actually known what happened. He decided against asking if it had been the Galra, then. Not when they were about to go fight alongside the Galra- no use dredging up too many bad memories.

“You’ll be fine out there, kid,” said Blaytz, changing the subject and plastering an encouraging smile on his face. “Almir mentioned that you’d progressed a lot.”

“I’m going to get pummelled,” said Alfor. “But I do think I’ll live.”

Blaytz laughed at this. “I got pummelled in my first fight, too, kid, so don’t worry. I just wish for your sake your first fight wouldn’t be this one.”

“Stop worrying about me, Blaytz,” Alfor said. “You’re starting to sound like my mother.”

Blaytz chuckled. “Well, ready or not for this fight, we’re here.”

Despite himself, Alfor leaned forward to catch a better glimpse of Nalquod. He’d seen images and holograms of the planet before, but had never actually visited before. It looked to be something like ninety percent water, but with the amount of cloud cover Alfor couldn’t make out much. Blaytz muttered something under his breath.

“I had hoped it would be a clear day,” he explained. “A bit harder to fight when it’s pouring rain.”

Alfor blinked at him. “Rain?”

“Oh, right, Altea doesn’t usually have rain,” said Blaytz, eyes narrowing. “Water. Falling from the sky.”

“We have _something_ like that,” said Alfor, uneasily thinking of the few times he and Coran had found themselves stuck outside during a storm and come back with scrapes and burns. “Water sounds much more pleasant.”

“Until what little land we have floods,” said Blaytz, but he seemed more amused than annoyed by this. “Alright, kid. Let’s go meet up with the others.”

 

 

It was, indeed, _raining_ when they landed. The water was cool and indeed much more pleasant than falling, burning rocks. Blaytz laughed at his awestruck expression and dragged him inside to where the other three of the alliance were waiting.

“Excellent,” said Zarkon as they walked in. “Blaytz, this infernal falling water is going to disable many of my droids.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Blaytz as if just remembering it. “Not much I can do about the weather. Have them fighting in an area with no rain. There has to be some place on the planet with no rain.”

Zarkon muttered something about inconsiderate Nalquodians and Blaytz shot him an annoyed look. Trigel sighed and shook her head.

“Boys, if you are going to fight, please do it _after_ we defeat the Marvids,” she said. “We are a team. We need to work together.”

“So what, exactly, is our plan?” Alfor asked. “Besides defeating the Marvids.”

“We will lead the ground troops,” said Zarkon. “The villages at risk have all been evacuated. Altea and Daibazaal are providing air cover. Most likely, if we can find and defeat the Marvid leader, then the rest will scatter.”

Trigel nodded. “The rest will then be collected and relocated to an uninhabited planet at the edge of our system.”

“Will we know who the leader is?” Alfor asked.

“It will be the biggest and most dangerous,” said Gyrgan. He slapped a hand on Alfor’s shoulder and nearly bowled him over. “Leave that to us. You are small and would not stand a chance.”

Alfor truly appreciated the vote of confidence.

“I am sure the young prince has more fighting prowess than his meagre stature might suggest,” Zarkon said. Alfor would have appreciated the Galran’s defence a lot more if it were actually true.

“Are we waiting for the rain to clear up or heading out now?” asked Blaytz. “We’ve already heard one complaint from Emperor Boulder-in-the-Current, but if anyone else has any arguments-“

Zarkon stiffened. “That was an insult. That was a Nalquodian insult and I-“

“Alright, don’t fight,” Alfor cut in. “The Altean ships will be fine with a bit of water, though the cloud cover may prove difficult. Altean soldiers will be surprised by the rain but likely not too hindered by it.”

“Galra soldiers as well,” Zarkon grunted, still glaring at Blaytz. “It is only the droids that may have issues, because no one thought to waterproof them completely.”

“Nalquod is eighty-nine percent water!” Blaytz exclaimed.

“I did not expect any fighting _under_ the water,” Zarkon protested.

“I hate to break it to you, but the Marvids can swim just as good as any Nalquodian,” Blaytz crossed his arms. “Your men have fought here before. You never even took it into consideration?”

“Well, we are not fighting the Nalquodians this time,” Zarkon gritted out. “The Marvids are far more land-based, and I had somewhat expected your military to be the ones in the water.”

“I hope your people at least have something in their suits to let them breathe underwater,” grumbled Blaytz. “Not _my_ fault if a Marvid drags them under and drowns them.”

Alfor was suddenly terribly aware that _he_ didn’t have any way to breathe underwater. The pummelling he’d predicted earlier was inching closer and closer into the certain death range.

“We should depart,” said Gyrgan. “Do not worry. Your people will be freed from the Marvid scourge by nightfall.”

Alfor really wished he could share the Rygnirathan’s optimism.

Blaytz clapped a hand on his shoulder and gave the rest of the team a grin. “Gyrgan’s right. Let’s go kick some Marvid ass.”

Trigel made an offended squeak and glared at him, yanking Alfor by the arm away from the Nalquodian and covering his ears. “Blaytz, contain your foul language in front of the child!”

“I am literally about to fight in a war, I am not a child,” Alfor protested. He shrugged her off and started for the door. “Besides, I’m sure I’ve said much worse before. Are we going or what?”

Her glare turned on Blaytz as if to blame him for this.

“Off we go, kid, get you battle face on,” he said, dragging Alfor outside of the room. “See the rest of you there, don’t drown!”

 

 

Alfor tried his best to appear as intimidating as the other members of the alliance. Before them stood several of the Marvids, somehow even scarier than in the hologram. They were fighting a tad too close to a large body of water for Alfor’s liking, but given that the planet was nearly completely water, it wasn’t shocking.

“You have one chance now to surrender,” Blaytz told them evenly. “You are outnumbered and outmatched. Surrender now and we will aid you in relocating to another planet.”

The tallest of the group walked forward and sneered. He had a jagged scar crossing his chest, two lines crossing each other in opposite directions. “King Blaytz of Nalquod. I will enjoy killing you, and parading your severed head for all to see.”

Alfor held back a wince at the rather sickening mental image.

Blaytz smiled grimly. “So be it. I will enjoy killing _you_ , scourge of my people.”

He let out a fierce war-cry and charged, and the other leaders followed him. Alfor started forward as well, squashing his terror, but someone yanked him back.

“My prince!” snapped the Altean. “You cannot rush forward as the others. Stay and fight alongside us, for your safety.”

Then several Alteans rushed past him to join the fray. More Marvids seemed to flood the battlefield, and Alfor determinedly pushed his way out of the circle of Alteans surrounding him in order to join the fight.

“Neck, gills, inside the major joints,” Alfor coached himself. “Uh- uh-“

“Eyes,” provided a Nalquodian who was suddenly beside him, stabbing forward with a spear and catching the Marvid in front of them right in the eye. It howled and fell, bluish-purple blood spurting from the injury. Alfor grimaced and looked away, jumping back in alarm as another Marvid leapt at him.

He parried the Marvid’s attack decently, but focused on dodging because he wouldn’t make a dent in its natural armour and he didn’t particularly want to stab it in the eye like the Nalquodian fighting beside him had done.

“I’ve never fought an Altean before,” the Marvid snarled.

“Yes, well, I’ve never fought anyone before,” Alfor said, ducking a swipe made for his head.

The Marvid seemed kind of disappointed. “You won’t be very fun to kill then.”

“Well, I hate to-“ Alfor jumped back- “disappoint you, but I’m not that easy to kill- woah-“

He tripped backwards and fell, but threw his sword out in time to catch the Marvid’s swing. He gritted his teeth and focused on harnessing the little quintessence he stored in the sword, to give him the strength to _get this guy off of him_ -

A flash of light left Alfor winded but also freed from the Marvid, who’d been blown backwards. Alfor blinked, then looked at his sword and grinned. He pushed himself to his feet.

“Much better than the food reheater!” he decided. He wavered dizzily a moment and sighed. “I should not do that again.”

He forced himself back into the fray, sword poised in front of him as if to skewer anyone in his way.

Alfor continued coaching himself under his breath. “Neck, gills, eyes, joints. Necks, gills, eyes- _quiznak_!”

The blow caught him in the side and knocked the breath out of him, but while it was painful he was certain his armour had saved him from the injuries he would have had otherwise.

“The Altean prince, is it not?” said the Marvid, ugly grin curling in his face. Alfor recognised the crossed scars on his chest with dread. “I’ve always wondered if Alteans could _swim_.”

Then, before Alfor could react, he was lifted off the ground and thrown into the deep water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! If you can't tell, I hate writing fight scenes and am kind of rubbish at it. Also I promise I know what I'm doing.
> 
> Headcanons! Blaytz looks like he probably comes from a largely water-based planet, so he does. And they actually get rain, which Altea does not- Coran had been pretty confused by the prospect when Lance brought it up, after all. We know so little about the original paladins, so that allowed me to take some liberties with some of Blaytz's backstory, which was fun. Since I completely made up the Marvids, I had as much liberty as I wanted with them, so that was equally fun.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed! Love you all and thanks for reading! <3


	6. The Battle for Nalquod: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fight continues, and Alfor finds and rescues a Nalquodian family.

Alfor had enough wits about him to gasp in a deep breath before he hit the water. The good news was that he did indeed know how to swim. The bad news was that his armour was weighing him down like a rock, something he would need to fix when he got back to Altea.

A Nalquodian caught sight of him and swam over to help him to the surface. He coughed and gasped for air, and the Nalquodian aided him in making his way to shallower water.

“You alright, Altean?” he asked.

Alfor nodded. “Yes- thank you-“

“Best get yourself away from the water,” said the Nalquodian. “That armour of yours was not made for swimming.”

“No kidding,” said Alfor. “I will, thank you.”

The Nalquodian nodded, then dove back into the water. Alfor waded out of the water, relieved to be on mostly dry land again. The rain was starting to let up. Alfor couldn’t find the Marvid with the scars, which he decided was probably a good thing.

He needed to find the rest of the alliance, make sure they were okay, see what he could do to help. He’d killed all of no one so far (he wasn’t incredibly saddened by that) and all he’d managed to do was nearly die twice.

He skirted around the thick of the fight, trying to catch sight of his allies. The fighting had extended into what seemed to be a Nalquodian village.

Alfor caught sight of a Marvid entering one of the houses, unnoticed.

He could take one Marvid, probably, and besides, even if the house was evacuated it wouldn’t be very nice if the family that owned returned to find it looted and destroyed.

“Hey- you- _hey!_ ” Alfor yelled. The Marvid turned, scowling, and Alfor gulped. This was probably one of the more foolish things he had ever done; he has no way of knowing how skilled this particular warrior was, and Alfor was, well, very unskilled.

“Hello, little Altean,” he said evenly. “Do you truly believe you can face me alone?”

“Um, yes, I rather believe so,” he fudged, brandishing his sword as threateningly as he could. The Marvid chuckled, and drew his own sword.

That was actually a bit of a relief. Alfor actually knew how to fight another swordsman.

The Marvid made the first move, and Alfor sidestepped to avoid being skewered. From what Alfor knew of swordplay, it was kind of like a dance. It felt rather like that now- just a very dangerous, complicated dance that could easily end with him being skewered or otherwise maimed or dead.

“You are a good swordsman, little Altean,” chuckled the Marvid. “But not good enough.”

Alfor surprised even himself when he parried the blow that came next.

“Maybe I don’t have to be in order to defeat _you_ ,” he shot back rather elatedly.

They continued. Alfor wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold the Marvid off on his own- he was beginning to somewhat regret his decision to provoke him.

Alfor dodged a stab aimed straight at his face a tad too slow, and he couldn’t stop the yelp that escaped him when the blade slid across his cheek. He stumbled despite himself.

The Marvid looked absolutely gleeful to have been able to wound him, and he rushed him, sword drawn. Alfor panicked, almost blindly, dodging, aiming, and stabbing forward-

The Marvid howled and dropped his sword, stumbling backwards as his hands flew up to fruitlessly try to cover the bleeding wound on his neck. Alfor felt sick to his stomach as the Marvid’s choked screams died and he fell to the ground- dead.

“By the ancients,” Alfor mumbled nauseously. The blood from his own wound slid down his face like tears. Alfor stared at his blade, coated in the Marvid’s purplish-blue blood, in horror.

He suddenly wished he hadn’t insisted on fighting the Marvids, on being part of the alliance- maybe he had been halfway ready to defend himself, but he had not been prepared to kill another living being. Alteans were generally peaceful- he had never imagined-

He pushed his thoughts out of his head and tore his eyes from the Marvid’s still form and his own bloody sword to the open door of the house. He walked over to it and peeked in.

“Hello?” he said, though he didn’t expect an answer.

A trapdoor in the floor suddenly opened and a Nalquodian woman’s head appeared. All the tension in her features disappeared at the sight of him.

“An Altean,” she murmured. “I thank you, Altean- without your aid, the Marvid certainly would have found us.”

“Us?” repeated Alfor. “Wait, I thought- we were told all at-risk civilians had been evacuated!”

“Many left,” she said. “But many did not trust the Galra. My husband was a prisoner of the Galran-Nalquodian War, and we were not going to risk such for our children- our bunkers are safe, and we expected the Marvids to be too busy fighting the armies to bother with civilians in their homes.”

“Yes, but we have air cover and-“ Alfor winced. “And they think all of these homes are empty. I must inform my father of this- I- is everyone okay?”

“My family is safe,” she said in relief. She tilted her head, fins falling. “You are wounded, Altean. At least allow me to patch you up before you leave.”

“It’s just a scratch,” muttered Alfor.

“Are you also injured here?” she asked. Alfor glanced to where she was gesturing and winced to see a deep scratch in his armour.

“Thankfully not,” he said. “My armour protected me.”

 The Nalquodian still beckoned him into her- what did she call it?- her bunker. It was surprisingly dry and well lit, and a man and two children occupied it as well. The children gasped in unison at the sight of him.

“An Altean,” murmured the man in surprise.

“An Altean!” exclaimed one of the children. He rocketed forward and latched onto Alfor’s arm, and his sister quickly followed suit.

“Wow, a real Altean!” the little girl cried in awe. “Look at his ears, they’re all pointy!”

She reached up and gave his ear an experimental tug.Alfor winced and gently pried her hands away.

“Look at his markings,” said the boy, reaching a hand up to poke at Alfor’s uninjured cheek. “Oh! Look at that!”

“Mummy, he has an owie!” the little girl whispered, eyes wide. Her hands flew up to cover her mouth. “Don’t worry, Mister Altean, Mummy always taes care of our owies, she can take care of yours too!”

“His blood is red!” declared the boy, as if discovering something new and grand about the universe. “That is strange. Why is it red? It’s- it’s _weird_.”

“It is red,” the girl realised. “Wow, Alteans are so weird- he doesn’t even got gills. He probably can’t even swim!”

“He doesn’t _have_ gills,” the boy corrected.

“Yes, I know, I just said that,” she said exasperatedly.

“No, I’ve not got any gills, but yes, I can swim,” Alfor informed them in amusement.

“Here we are, Altean, I have some gauze right here,” said the woman, gently pushing him to sit down. “I can’t keep calling you that, I’m Iliz, this is my husband, Rethor, and my children, Rald and Mariza.”

“Hi,” said Mariza cheerily. “What’s _your_ name, Mister Altean?”

“Oh, um, of course,” he said. “It’s- it’s Alfor.”

Hopefully they wouldn’t recognise him as Prince Alfor. Neither Iliz or Rethor seemed too bothered.

He sat patiently as she cleaned his injury and applied the gauze, well accustomed to getting patched up after one of his experiments went awry.

“I really do need to warn my father that there are still villagers around,” Alfor said as she finished up. “It would be a disaster if our cover fire ended up causing civilian casualties- why on earth would they send the Galra to evacuate you? Even Blaytz doesn’t like the Galra.”

“Is your father the commander of the Altean airships?” asked Rethor, leaning forward curiously.

“Um, you could sort of say that,” Alfor said awkwardly. “I- thank you very much, for your assistance. I’m glad you’re all safe.”

“Thank _you_ for keeping us safe,” said Iliz.

“Just- just try to stay that way,” said Alfor uneasily.

He didn’t much like just leaving them there, but he also knew for a fact he couldn’t get them out on his own. The only way he could think to contact his father was to head straight through the thick of things so he could get to the medical tents, which were bound to have some way of contacting his father. Unfortunately, he wasn’t completely sure where the medical tents were.

 _If you got stabbed, they’d take you there_ , his mind offered rather unhelpfully.

He had a lot of bad ideas, but that was definitely one of his worst, and he was aware of it, so he decided against it.

He did his best to stay out of the way as he pushed through the fight. Most of the Marvids were too busy fighting to notice him. He stayed prepared to fight again just in case, but after fighting and killing the Marvid threatening Iliz’s family, he was feeling pretty done with the battle.

Finally, he caught sight of the tents. Most of them were actually Altean, but some seemed to be Nalquodian and even some Galran. The fighting slowed as he reached it, and finally he broke out of the fight altogether. The rest of the jog to the medical tents was completely safe.

He ducked into the biggest Altean one he could find, hoping it was maybe a headquarters or something.

“Prince Alfor!” yelped one Altean man as he walked in. “You highness, are you injured?”

“No- well, yes,” admitted Alfor. “But not badly. Bruises and a scratch- that’s not why I came here, I must contact my father immediately.”

“Of course,” said the man. “I have a communication link set up in the back. Follow me, and then perhaps we will check you over. Your reputation does precede you, my prince.”

“I’ve only under-exaggerated my injuries once,” Alfor muttered mulishly as he followed the man. The man chuckled and allowed him into a sectioned off back room of sorts.

“I will let you be for now,” he said. “You’ll have to come back through the main part of the tent to leave anyway.”

“Thanks,” said Alfor. The man nodded and left. Alfor quickly found his father’s ship and connected to it.

Father looked extremely surprised to see him, and his brow settled into worry. “Alfor. Are you injured?”

“No, no,” he said. “I wanted to inform you that our air cover needs to be careful. A number of Nalquodians apparently chose not to evacuate because they feared the Galra- after the war, I am not surprised. Many Nalquodians are still in their homes-“

“Of course,” said Father, brow still furrowed. “It was foolish of us to send the Galra to evacuate people. Altean ships would have been more welcomed. I will pass on the message.”

“Thank you, Father,” Alfor said in relief.

Father nodded. “Be careful, my son.”

“I always am,” Alfor said.

Father shut the communication line off. Alfor nodded to himself and then turned to leave. He paused.

He did not need to waste time being checked over for bad injuries he knew didn’t exist. He sighed and pushed through the curtain back into the main part of the tent.

“Everything alright?” asked the man from before.

“Absolutely,” said Alfor. “I must head back to the battle now.”

“My prince,” said the man hesitantly.

“Do not worry,” Alfor said, smiling. “I will be fine. Take care of the people who actually need it.”

The man stared at him, then nodded. “Do not forget to come here if you are injured, Prince Alfor.”

“I won’t,” Alfor promised.

Then, somewhat regretting every step and yet determined to prove himself, he left to return to the battle.

                                                                                                                                                         

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry this took so long. College orientation has been super crazy!! But I am finally moved in and classes start tomorrow- so excited! I hope you guys like this chapter alright, it felt a bit weak to me XD.
> 
> Headcanons here: Nalquodians don't have red blood, and so the kids would be a bit surprised that Alfor does- of course, this also headcanons that Alteans have red blood like humans do. Alfor is a stubborn reckless fool but he also isn't particularly fond of killing things- and he's never killed before, so it's going to be kind of yikes. I had no idea how to name Nalquodians, so I hope their names are halfway decent. I completely made them up.
> 
> Love you guys so much!! <3


	7. The Battle for Nalquod: Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the battle continues to rage, Alfor tests the limits of his quintessence-sword- a potentially fatal mistake.

Alfor had never been happier for his ability to remain lucid after zero vargas of sleep in more than one quintant than he was at that point. The fighting had continued overnight. Alfor did his best to hang back; he felt kind of useless, but he also knew he was a bit of a rubbish fighter, and if people were trying to protect _him_ , they wouldn’t be able to protect themselves.

By morning, he had long since pushed past his exhaustion to make room for the sleep-deprived semi-euphoria he recognised from many sleepless nights in the lab. He was tired, yes, but he wasn’t going to fall asleep on the battlefield at this point.

“Another beautiful morning on war-torn Nalquod,” muttered a Nalquodian near him wryly.

“Our shared sun looks very nice in the Nalquodian atmosphere,” Alfor offered.

The Nalquodian gave him a dubious look. “Whatever you say, Altean.”

He really hoped the fight would wrap up soon, but he figured that wasn’t the case. Most battles he had read about lasted several quintants, not just one and a half. He still hadn’t seen anyone from the rest of the alliance, and indeed had no clue if they were even alive. That was a worrying thought. He rather liked the other members of the alliance, particularly Blaytz. He’d at least know if Blaytz had been killed; the Marvids weren’t celebrating, so that had to be a good sign.

Alfor was torn out of his thoughts when the glint of metal caught his eye. He threw up his own sword to parry the blow.

A Marvid, of course.

This one didn’t speak; it just glowered at him and moved to attack again.

“Okay, no chit-chat?” Alfor asked, ducking backwards. “Alright- you don’t want to tell me how much you’ll enjoy killing me? That’s what all your buddies have done. None of them have succeeded, obviously, but-“

Alfor wasn’t expecting the Marvid’s fist to collide so violently with the side of his face, but that was kind of what he got for not paying enough attention. He stumbled, but didn’t fall this time. He reached up to gently prod the bruise forming, wincing as he did.

“Why is it always my face?” he grumbled.

“You talk too much, boy,” growled the Marvid.

“Fair enough,” Alfor conceded, jumping backwards to avoid getting skewered.

Finally, he decided that it was time to see if his quintessence-sword could actually do anything useful. He focussed on his desire not to kill anyone else but to also not be killed and lunged forward. The quintessence in the sword seemed to glow brighter, and to his utter shock, he managed to leave a thin, bleeding line across the Marvid’s chest. The Marvid himself looked utterly shocked.

Alfor wavered, and suddenly his exhaustion hit him again almost full-force.

The Marvid looked very mad now. Alfor had about three ticks to realise he messed up before the Marvid _tackled_ him to the ground. He struggled against his grip, but the Marvid was much stronger than he was, and suddenly one of his huge hands was around Alfor’s throat, holding him down and cutting off his access to air-

Then there was a blade through the Marvid’s neck, and he collapsed, the pressure vanishing from Alfor’s throat. Someone pushed the Marvid off of him, and Alfor just laid there for a moment, gasping for the air he’d been deprived of.

“Prince Alfor, are you alright?” asked Trigel. Alfor forced himself to sit up and face her as she kneeled beside him.

“Yeah, thanks to you,” he said, glancing at the Marvid’s body and swallowing harshly. He quickly did a once-over of Trigel, trying to make sure she wasn’t injured. He couldn’t make out any injuries, at least, which was a relief.

“I imagine your father will be most displeased to see bruising on your neck, should it appear- which I believe it will,” she said.

Alfor grimaced. “Yes, I imagine so as well.”

“I would suggest you go to the medical tents and have them check on you,” she said, eyeing him almost worriedly. “I do not like the looks of the damage your armour has taken.”

Alfor glanced down. Sure enough, his armour was littered with scratches and dents of all sorts. He wasn’t surprised, and while he was rather sore all over, he was also pretty sure his armour had taken the worst of all the hits he’d taken.

“Don’t worry, Lady Trigel,” Alfor said. “I personally made certain my armour would protect me. I am fine.”

“Be more careful,” she said. “No matter how confident you are in your armour, none of us can afford to become reckless. Why are all of my new allies so _foolish_?”

The last question was said almost to herself, and it gave Alfor the distinct impression that she’d had the same _don’t-get-reckless_ talk with someone else already.

“I will be careful, Lady Trigel,” he promised. He hesitated, then worriedly asked, “How are the others doing? Are they injured?”

She gave him a kind of fond look, and shook her head. “Nothing that has put them out of commission- or at least, it was as such when I last saw them.”

Alfor released a sigh of relief. “Thank the Ancients. I had not seen any of them since we were separated at the beginning of the battle.”

Trigel nodded, then, no more words spoken, she charged back into battle. Alfor stared after her for a moment, kind of dumbfounded, because she had never seemed to him much of a warrior but, _woah,_ she just killed about five Marvids within what was probably thirty ticks.

He shook his head and also charged back into the battle, his sudden weariness all but dissipated. Unlike Trigel, he didn’t even try to kill a Marvid. He’d killed one and decided he hated it.

Instead, he hesitantly used his quintessence-enhanced sword to step in when it seemed like an ally was losing, surprise and injure the attacking Marvid, and then get himself and the ally out of there before he could get strangled again.

He was rather surprised and proud of his new method of fighting. It wasn’t half bad, and he kind of hoped he was minimising the fatalities.

Unfortunately, the longer he kept it up, the more drained he was becoming.

“Just treat it like you haven’t slept in three quintants,” he coached himself. “You’ve managed that before, Father will let you sleep when you get home.”

He was being somewhat helpful now, so he absolutely had to continue, even if it did mean he would pretty much collapse as soon as the battle was over. If he could save lives, then he didn’t really care how much energy his quintessence-sword was sapping from him.

He had forced his way into the midst of the battle at this point, and almost gave up and returned to the outskirts, where the stench of blood and death wasn’t so overpowering, where he wasn’t stumbling over corpses, Marvid, Nalquodian, Altean, and Galran alike. It made him queasy- sick to his stomach- not a good combination with his exhaustion. He forced himself to keep his eyes up and pretend he was tripping on something like rocks- something that hadn’t been alive _yesterday_.

He finally caught sight of another of his allies- Emperor Zarkon, defending a couple of downed Nalquodians. The Nalquodians themselves looked utterly shocked; Zarkon didn’t appear to notice, face set in a scowl as he used his strange Galran mace to battle five Marvids singlehandedly. He didn’t seem to be having any trouble, either, so Alfor decided to leave him be.

Instead, he chose to focus on the Marvid who was attacking a couple of Alteans and a Galran and clearly winning. He pushed his exhaustion back, and gave himself a mental pep talk.

Surprise the Marvid. Maybe injure the Marvid. Get the Alteans and the Galran away from the Marvid.

He concentrated until his sword glowed more brightly, then rushed forward and slashed at the Marvid. Any sort of injury would certainly startle him, especially if it was somewhere other than a weak point. He managed to leave a bleeding line on the Marvid’s shoulder, but as the Marvid turned to face him, any smugness Alfor had felt drained away.

“So you can swim after all,” rumbled the Marvid. It was the same one that had thrown him into the water- the one they had spoken to before the battle began. He had a few more injuries, but the starkest were still the crossed scars on his chest. He eyed his shoulder as if it were a mere nuisance, then glowered at Alfor.

At least the Alteans and the Galran had taken the distraction to flee and hopefully seek medical attention.

“Um, hello, again,” said Alfor awkwardly, taking a step backwards.

“Perhaps I underestimated you, little Altean,” he said, tilting his head. “You stood next to the Nalquodian Blaytz, did you not? I have heard tell of the alliance forged by the king of Altea- I was very surprised to see _you-_ this couldn’t be the _prince_ of Altea, this scrawny, weak child?”

Alfor’s face flushed. “I am not scrawny and weak. I injured you.”

The Marvid’s taunting grin was replaced with a scowl.

“So you did,” he mused. “Then enough talk, little prince. You fancy yourself a warrior? Prove it.”

And Alfor was officially dead.

The Marvid lunged at him, and Alfor barely had time to dodge his mace-like weapon. He had no idea how he was going to fight the Marvid with only his quintessence-sword- dodging until help came was probably his only option.

“Fight, boy!” the Marvid shouted.

“No thanks,” Alfor managed to call back.

The Marvid gave an angry growl, and Alfor kept dodging his strikes, growing more and more tired as the Marvid grew angrier and angrier.

He was too slow to dodge the next blow; it knocked him to the ground and left him momentarily breathless. He had no time to recover as the mace came down on his shoulder.

The pain reminded him once again that he was not ready for this battle.

The Marvid raised his mace to strike again. Alfor did the only thing he could think to do: he threw up his sword like a shield, wincing and hoping it would do something. There was a nearly blinding flash of light that Alfor could see even with closed eyes, and it seemed to suck most of the remaining energy out of him, but the blow never came. When Alfor opened his eyes, he could see the Marvid a bit away, struggling to his feet, a fresh wound joining the crossed scars.

He looked positively _murderous_ now.

“So the little prince of Altea fights with magic?” he grunted, eyes cold and dark. “Very well. I tried to offer you a fair fight. I do not like using the modern technologies, but you leave me little choice.”

He needed to get out of there- to the medical tents, preferably- before the Marvid attacked him again, but he was weak and couldn’t manage to force himself to stand.

_You’re sure your quintessence sword won’t drain your energy and kill you?_ Coran’s voice rang out in his head.

Ninety-three percent had not been a good percentage to go off of. He should have known better.

He managed to watch in horror as the Marvid pulled out an actual gun. He hadn’t seen any of the Marvids fighting with guns yet, any laser blasts or other sorts of gunshots had come from their side.

This was it. Alfor was actually going to die here.

“Goodbye, Prince of Altea,” snarled the Marvid. Alfor squeezed his eyes shot, mentally preparing himself for the pain and hoping it would be quick.

He heard the shot.

He never felt it.

Instead, someone else had fallen in front of him, landing awkwardly half on him. Alfor pried his eyes open, and realised with dread just what had happened.

The shot never reached him. Instead of Alfor dead on the ground, Blaytz laid half-conscious, clutching at a bleeding wound in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, guys, I wrote a chapter! And look? We had more of the other paladins for a minute there? And it's a cliffhanger! Fun, yeah?
> 
> This chapter was pretty fun to write, especially since I too feel low-key sleep-deprived now that I'm in school again. Still can't write battles, just saying.
> 
> Headcanons for this: Alfor has bad sleeping habits, especially when he's got a project, and he gets both talkative and snarky when sleep-deprived (the sleep-deprived semi-euphoria mentioned happens to me if I don't get enough sleep, and hey, write what you know); Trigel is super awesome and a great warrior too, and also they'd all be dead without her, just saying.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed this as much as I did writing it! Love you guys! <3


	8. Consequences and Doubts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of the battle on Nalquod, both Alfor and his father express their doubts about Alfor being part of the alliance after almost getting himself and Blaytz killed.

Alfor’s breath caught in his throat.

“Blaytz!” he cried in alarm, crawling to his side. His hands hovered over the Nalquodian’s injury, but he knew nothing about first aid, except that he should probably stop the bleeding, _except that he didn’t know how so now Blaytz was going to die and it’d be his fault because he was an idiot and-_

“Hey, kid,” Blaytz managed.

Alfor mouthed a few words without any sound coming out.

“Oh, this is excellent,” chuckled the Marvid darkly. “The King of Nalquod is dying and the Prince of Altea is soon to join him.”

“Damn you,” Blaytz shot back at him.

Alfor grabbed his sword again. He had a bit more energy, thought it may have just been terrified adrenaline, so he brandished his sword as threateningly as possible.

He couldn’t even bring himself to stand. He was utterly useless and he knew it.

“You can do nothing, boy,” he said.

“Try me,” said Alfor.

The Marvid raised his gun again. Alfor swallowed.

“Kid, get outta here,” said Blaytz.

“No,” said Alfor, “I’m not leaving you.”

“Such loyalty,” said the Marvid. “Well, then, goodbye, little Prince.”

Alfor braced himself to dodge or somehow deflect the shot (that he suspected would take a lot of quintessence, but it probably wouldn’t kill him and the shot probably would). He didn’t need to worry, however, because the Marvid’s arm was knocked away by a mace as Zarkon stormed up to them. The shot flew harmlessly past Alfor.

“A Galra come to save an Altean and a Nalquodian?” said the Marvid in shock.

“An ally come to save his allies,” Zarkon corrected. “Leave now or face my wrath.”

If Alfor had been the Marvid, he certainly would have left. Zarkon was, quite frankly, _very_ intimidating. Instead of running, however, the Marvid chuckled and trained his weapon on the Galran emperor. Alfor mentally panicked; his first mission as part of this alliance, and he was going to get _two_ of the members killed.

Alfor found quickly that he had severely underestimated Zarkon, because the Galran charged forward to attack the Marvid. He watched the fight for half a moment, before returning his attention to Blaytz. The Nalquodian was luckily still conscious, watching the fight in wonder.

“Never thought I’d see the day,” he mused.

“Blaytz, how do I fix this?” Alfor asked, hands hovering near the older man’s wound. “Oh, _Ancients_ , can I fix this?”

“Heh, probably not,” said Blaytz. Alfor’s alarm must have shown on his face. “Aw, kid, didn’t mean it like that – if you’ll just help me stand–”

“Should you really be standing?” Alfor asked. “Will it make the bleeding worse? Oh, we need to stop the bleeding. I – I have _some_ experience with that–”

“You have some experience with that,” repeated Blaytz.

“Stop talking, you’ll make it worse,” said Alfor. “Unfortunately I do not have enough experience to actually figure this out – I’m not usually the one doing the patching up!”

Could he heal it with quintessence? It’d be similar to the Balmera thing, right? All he’d need to do was transfer the quintessence or something – unless it was completely different and he was wrong.

Well, if he could make it work for his sword, he could make it work to heal Blaytz.

He focused – he still wasn’t the best at the ritual and he wasn’t doing it properly. A flicker of light appeared in the palms of his hands, and he moved to put them on the wound.

Before he could even try, however, a hand landed on his shoulder and Zarkon knelt beside him. Alfor stiffened in alarm and the glow vanished.

“Can both of you walk?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Blaytz.

“I’m not injured,” Alfor said, which he knew wasn’t an answer to Zarkon’s question but was better than the real answer (that was, of course, that he wasn’t sure).

Zarkon gave him a withering stare. “I somehow find it difficult to believe you. Either way, _you_ look like you would fall over from a mere touch.”

“No one is carrying me if that’s what you’re suggesting,” Alfor protested.

“Very well,” agreed Zarkon. He helped Blaytz to his feet, holding the other leader up because even though Blaytz _claimed_ he could stand, it was clear the wound was affecting him more than he let on. Guilt once more crept up on Alfor; this was all his fault.

Blaytz gave him a hesitant smile. “Guess you aren’t so bad, after all, Zarkon.”

“Hm,” Zarkon said.

Alfor unsteadily got to his feet again. A rush of dizziness hit him and he held out his arms to balance himself. Darkness crept into the corners of his vision.

“Oh,” he said weakly, gaining both of his allies’ alarmed attentions, “I believe I accidentally lied.”

Then he promptly passed out.

 

 

Alfor’s first thought upon stumbling out of the healing pod in the med-bay was, _aw, man, I’m probably grounded again_.

“Ah! He’s awake!” exclaimed Coran, grabbing Alfor in a rib-crushing hug.

“Ack, Coran – I do need to breathe!” Alfor protested.

Coran released him and furiously crossed his arms. “What did I tell you? What did I say? _What did I say_?”

“You say quite a lot,” Alfor said.

Coran scowled, bottom lip jutting out from under his moustache. “I asked, and I believe I quote, ‘Are you sure your quintessence sword won’t _drain your energy and kill you_?’”

“Oh, that,” said Alfor. “Well, I am clearly still alive.”

“And you’re right lucky that you are, too!” snapped Coran.

Alaea chose this moment to stalk forward and punch Alfor solidly on the chest.

“Hey!” he yelped.

“You almost died!” she snarled. “You stupid, _stupid_ –”

“I’m fine, Alaea, really,” Alfor said. “Blaytz saved – Blaytz! Is he okay?”

“Blaytz is fine, son,” said his father’s voice. Alfor stiffened as Father walked up to him. “He was released from the pod yesterday, fully recovered.”

Alfor sighed in relief. “I’m glad.”

Father nodded and put his hands on Alfor’s shoulders. “I don’t think I need to tell you how foolish it was to experiment with your own quintessence like you did.”

Alfor whirled on his best friend. “You _told_ him!?”

“You gave me permission if it went completely downhill!” Coran retorted defensively. “You know our policy – if you almost kill yourself, I tell you father.”

“I didn’t almost kill myself.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

Father glanced between them. “That’s – worrisome, but beside the point. Alfor. You should have known better.”

“Sorry, Father,” Alfor said.

“No, you’re not,” Father said knowingly.

“No, I’m not,” Alfor agreed.

Father sighed and shook his head. “My son – I understand that you were trying to help on Nalquod. I know you thought enhancing your weapon with quintessence would help you to fight. But did you even think of the potential consequences?”

“I did,” Alfor said.

“I’m going to go let Fala know you’re awake and alright,” said Alaea awkwardly, taking her first chance to escape before Father got too mad. “Come along, Coran.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” said Coran, shooting Alfor a good-luck glance before he and Alaea quickly left the room.

Alfor glanced up at his father. The man looked simultaneously angry and worried – not a good combination for Alfor’s prospects of any alchemy in the near future.

“Alfor, we have discussed this,” said Father.

“Well, not this specifically–”

“Alfor,” said Father disapprovingly. “You cannot risk your life like this.”

“So I was a bit tired–”

“We thought you dead,” said Father seriously. “They brought you both in – you were unconscious and – Coran didn’t have to tell me anything, though he did and I appreciate it. It isn’t hard to recognise the overuse of quintessence.”

“I – oh,” managed Alfor.

Father pulled him into a hug. “I thought I lost you.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Alfor said.

“You scared all of us,” said Father. “Blaytz was only half-conscious when you both arrived, but he was incredibly worried.”

Alfor felt immediately worse. He was unfortunately pretty used to scaring his father and Alaea and Coran, but Blaytz was a _new_ friend. The man had saved his life and he’d gone and scared him.

“I really just need to train more with the sword,” said Alfor. “So it doesn’t take so much out of me.”

“You will not be training with anything right now,” said Father. “And until I say so, you are not going on any more missions with the Alliance.”

“But Father–”

“Alfor,” said Father warningly.

“ _You_ wanted me to be part of the alliance,” he argued.

“And I’m starting to worry it was a mistake,” Father said

Alfor stared at him in alarm. “Father–”

“No arguments, Alfor,” said Father. “I still think you are capable, but I think this has proven that you need time to learn as well before you go on any dangerous missions.”

Alfor snapped his mouth shut.

“I’m going to go to my room,” he said after a moment.

“Very well,” said Father. “You will likely still be tired. Get some rest. I will send for you when we eat.”

Alfor nodded shortly, then dejectedly left the room.

 

 

Alfor laid on his bed and stared up at the ceiling. He hadn’t meant to screw up so badly. He’d clearly disappointed his father, and chances were he’d get pulled out of the Alliance. He hadn’t realised how much he’d been _excited_ to be a part of this until he was sure he’d lose it.

There was a knock at his door. Expecting Coran, or maybe even Alaea, Alfor said, “Come in.”

“Hey, kid,” said Blaytz’s voice.

Alfor sat up. “Blaytz?”

“Yep,” he said, plopping down next to him without even asking. “How’re you doing?”

“I should be asking you that,” said Alfor. “I wasn’t the one that got shot.”

“Aw, kid, it’s not the first time and it likely won’t be the last,” said Blaytz dismissively. “Guess that whole quintessence-enhanced sword was more important than you told me.”

Alfor winced.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I messed it all up.”

Blaytz gave him a baffled look. “What do you mean? You didn’t mess anything up! We won, my people are safe once again.”

“I almost got you _and_ Zarkon killed,” Alfor pointed out. “I was utterly useless in the fight. I – my father’s right, it was a mistake for me to be a part of this.”

His fins drooped. “Your father said that?”

Alfor shook his head. “He said he was worried it was – and it was. I’m – well, I’m just a wannabe alchemist who can’t fight to save his life.”

“Hey, now,” said Blaytz. “You lived. And _I_ heard that you saved some civilians.”

“You heard about that?” he asked.

“Yes, I did,” Blaytz chuckled. “You’re a hero, kid! If your dad was saying it was a mistake – well, that’s only because he’s worried about you. You’re lucky. _My_ dad was never particularly worried about me.”

“Your father let you fight in the war,” said Alfor.

“Let? Kid, everyone fought in the war,” said Blaytz. “So, yes. Count yourself lucky your father would prefer you to stay safe. Mine had me fighting Galra at age fifteen.”

Alfor was silent a moment. “Do you resent him for it?”

“You’re a therapist now, huh?” laughed Blaytz. “No, I don’t resent my dad. It was a necessarily evil, and I _could_ fight. Anyway, kid, this isn’t about me.”

There was a brief pause. Alfor shifted and stared at his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

“Don’t be,” said Blaytz. “Just next time maybe be more careful.”

“If there even is a next time,” muttered Alfor bitterly.

“I’ll talk to your dad,” said Blaytz. “There will be a next time.”

“Thank you, Blaytz,” he said.

“It’s no problem,” said the Nalquodian. “Well, I won’t keep you. Heard you need lots of rest. Take a nap or something, kid.”

Alfor laughed. “I’ll see you around, I guess.”

“Yeah,” agreed Blaytz, standing and walking to the door. “See you around.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS! I am so super sorry this took so long! I got caught up with my first semester of college and then NaNoWriMo and, well, didn't have much time until now (winter break). I'm hoping to get another chapter before I go back, but sadly no promises.
> 
> Some of the headcanons in this chapter:  
> Blaytz had to fight in the war with the Galra; he was pretty young when he learned to fight.  
> Wow, isn't using quintessence to heal kinda like what Honerva did with her cat? Well, yes, and I debated until realising - by the time Alfor was so disapproving of this, he was a full grown adult with a (nearly) adult daughter. At this point, he may be more willing to experiment, especially to save a friend's life.  
> Alfor does stupid stuff and gets grounded way too often.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Love you all!! <3


	9. The Qadorian Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the alliance starts planning without him to take out the Qadorians harassing Galran trade, Alfor impulsively sets out to gather intelligence on the Qadorians on his own.

It was nearly an entire _phoeb_ before Alfor’s father let him anywhere near his lab or the training deck. It wasn’t the first time he’d had such a long punishment, nor was it the longest punishment he’d ever faced – no, _that_ award went to the time he accidentally blew a hole in the wall of his room and was grounded for three phoebs as a result (not to mention he hadn’t had a _room_ and had to stay in one of the impersonal guest bedrooms of the castle instead). Still, it was a long time to be stuck doing nothing useful or fun.

Blaytz had stopped by a couple of times, on the condition from Alfor’s father that they wouldn’t do or talk about anything related to the Alliance (Alfor _knew_ his father didn’t trust him). The Nalquodian was pretty fun to talk to, and he’d snuck Alfor some things to tinker with while he was banned from his lab. As a bonus, he and Coran also got along well – Alfor hadn’t been sure how that meeting was going to go, especially since the first thing Blaytz had done was _flirt_ with him.

Alfor hadn’t been sure whether to be relieved or mortified when his best friend flirted back.

He was still technically grounded from Alliance-related everything, but his father was now allowing him to experiment in his lab again as long as he swore not to mess with quintessence again. Alfor hadn’t in so many words _sworn_ he wouldn’t mess with quintessence – all he’d said was that he knew better than to do that again. His father obviously didn’t believe him, which kind of explained why he had a babysitter now.

“That is going to explode,” said Coran matter-of-factly.

“It will _not_ ,” Alfor replied hotly, carefully tweaking the sensors on his newest listening device.

“What is it even for?” his friend asked.

“Father is meeting with the members of the Alliance today,” said Alfor, “in _my_ stead. I want to know what’s going on. I might be able to convince Blaytz to tell me, but I also think he’s scared of my father, so this is a safer way.”

“What exactly are you doing?” asked Coran.

“I’m going to use this,” said Alfor, lifting the listening device and placing it on a clean table, “to hack into the Castle’s security cameras, access the audio, and broadcast it here, into this room, undetected.”

Coran was silent for a moment.

“Does this count as treason?” he asked.

Alfor scoffed. “ _No_. This does not count as _treason_.”

Coran shrugged. “I think this is the kind of thing I’m supposed to stop you from doing.”

“Again, no,” said Alfor. “You’re here because my father doesn’t trust me not to mess around with quintessence again.”

“Spying is bad,” said Coran.

“Eh, it’s not spying,” reasoned Alfor. “I really have every right to know this because I am part of the Alliance. Alright, I need your help. You know the Castle better than I do.”

Coran rolled his eyes. “Move over, then. What do I need to do?”

“First, tune it to the frequency our ships would use to contact us,” Alfor said. “Should give you an in.”

Coran nodded and set to work. Alfor would have tried it himself, instead of roping his friend into it (especially because his experiments _did_ tend to explode), but he wasn’t lying when he said Coran knew the Castle better than he did. If anyone could get them in undetected, it was Coran.

“Just – a – there!” said Coran, twisting the volume on the device up. Voices filtered through, and Alfor clapped his hands together.

“Yes!” he cheered.

“Hush, they’re talking about you!” Coran hissed. Alfor immediately quieted down and knelt next to his friend to listen.

“–we are going to need to do something soon, with or without Prince Alfor,” said Zarkon’s voice. “Honestly, Almir, I think you are being foolish. He was a great help on Nalquod.”

“He almost died,” Father said sharply.

“If you didn’t want him in danger, you never should have signed him up for the Alliance,” said Blaytz. “You can’t take it away from the kid now.”

“Thank you, Blaytz,” mumbled Alfor.

“Peace,” said Trigel’s voice. “We are not here to discuss the young prince. Zarkon, I agree that we cannot wait much longer to deal with the Qadorians, but we _are_ going to need a fully thought-out plan.”

Alfor scowled. “So they are going forward with it without me.”

“Shh!” hissed Coran.

“Unfortunately, without more information, there is little we can do at the moment,” said Father. “We will have to plan ambushes, perhaps, Find a way to get a man on the inside. I will discuss it with my men. As you know, Alteans are skilled at camouflage.”

Alfor leant back to sit on his heels. “There’s an idea.”

Coran turned to him in alarm. “Where? What idea? Please be thinking of how to install camouflage in your armour.”

“Also a good idea,” Alfor conceded, “but not the one I was thinking of. It’s not Alliance business if I’m doing something of my own volition and don’t discuss it with them, is it?”

“This is a terrible idea,” said Coran.

“You haven’t even heard the idea!” Alfor protested.

“I have known you most of my life,” his friend shot back. “It’s a bad idea, and we _both_ know it.”

“It’s just a little intelligence gathering,” said Alfor, standing and wandering over to one of his displays. He pulled up an image of a Qadorian and carefully inspected it. Then he closed his eyes and let his form shift to resemble the alien, limbs elongating and skin lightening to the same sickly yellowish colour. He held out his hands and flexed his fingers. “I won’t be caught.”

Coran scowled and stalked over to him, lifting his arms, then standing on his toes to inspect his face.

“Yes, one small issue,” he said. “Qadorians have _four_ arms. You’ve only got two.”

That was a slight issue.

“I can say I lost them,” he improvised. “I lost them while raiding a Galran ship. Wow, do those Galra fight well. Barely escaped with my life, let alone all six limbs! Heh.”

“And the hair?” added Coran. “Qadorians don’t have hair.”

“Helmet,” said Alfor. “I’ll need a disguise anyway.”

“And you’ll get one how?” said Coran.

“Ambushing a vessel, knocking out a Qadorian on it, and taking his uniform,” Alfor said.

Coran shook his head disapprovingly. “You think your father won’t notice you’re missing?”

“Ah, but that’s where you come in!” Alfor said brightly. “I need you to distract him. Tell him I’m not feeling well or something.”

Coran threw his hands up. “Spying on the king, lying to the king, is there anything else mildly illegal you’d like me to do?”

“Not at the moment, but I’m sure there will be eventually,” Alfor replied teasingly. “I’m going to go now – they’re still in their meeting?”

They both fell silent to listen in to the device. Alfor heard the tell-tale sound of Blaytz and Zarkon arguing – everything back to normal then – and nodded determinedly.

“Help me ready a pod,” he said.

“And there it is,” said Coran resignedly.

 

 

Despite his reluctance, Coran was as usual quite useful when it came to Alfor secretly borrowing one of the pods. The minute his father caught wind of his plan, Alfor knew it’d all be over, but he did happen to know that Coran’s ability to cover for him was just as good as his ability to hack into the Castle’s systems.

All he needed to do now was find a vessel to sneak onto. The vessel would take him right back to the Qadorian base of operations, where he’d walk around unhindered and gather information. Once he’d gathered enough, he would steal a small ship and come back to Altea to share his information – and his massive success – with his father.

It didn’t take long to find a ship. That part was easy. Sneaking on? Well, that was going to be an entirely different matter.

He pulled the pod close to the ship and pulled on his helmet. He made sure to flip his comms on.

“Coran, you there?” he asked.

There was brief static.

“Yes, I’m here,” replied Coran. “No suspicious from King Almir yet. Be careful, Alfor.”

“Aren’t I always?” said Alfor.

He closed the helmet and exited the pod, using his jetpack to propel him closer to the ship. He searched it until he found the airlock opening and – thankfully – a way to open it from the outside. He promptly did so and slipped inside, closing the airlock behind him. Gravity took over once more and he set down on the ground carefully and opened his helmet

“I’m in,” he said.

“Do _not_ use the quintessence part of your quintessence sword,” Coran said warningly.

“I didn’t even bring it,” said Alfor, which probably didn’t reassure Coran much. “I brought a spare weapon, some sort of dull mace, one we can afford to lose.”

“Well, good,” said Coran.

Alfor left the airlock and wandered down the corridor for a few doboshes until he finally spotted a Qadorian guard. He crept forward, then grabbed the alien and pulled him into an empty room on the ship.

“Altean!” the Qadorian hissed.

“Sleep well,” Alfor chirped, clubbing the alien over the head with his dulled mace. It did the trick – the Qadorian collapsed. Alfor winced. “Sorry about that. And this.”

He took the man’s uniform and shifted to resemble a Qadorian instead of an Altean before pulling the uniform on over his spacesuit. He turned the helmet in his hands.

“Coran, how do I tune these comms so we can still speak?” he asked.

“Theoretically the same way you’d tune your own comms,” said Coran.

Alfor sighed and messed with the helmet a moment before putting it on, shrinking and pocketing his own helmet. He could hear only static at the moment, and it took him another few doboshes before Coran’s voice finally filtered back through.

“–still think this is a terrible idea,” his friend was saying.

“Oh, good,” Alfor said. “Alright, then, time to test my acting.”

“If you get caught, or if I think you’re in more trouble than you already are,” warned Coran, “I am telling your father.”

“I’ll be fine,” he said, slipping out of the room and shutting the door behind him.

“Uh-huh, you said that about battling the Marvids too,” said Coran. “Honestly, the number of times you’ve said _those exact words_ and then ended up injured in a cryopod is astonishing.”

Alfor scoffed. “But I was always fine, in the end.”

“Very reassuring, Alfor,” said Coran flatly.

The corridor he was currently in was luckily pretty empty. Alfor did not know any of the Qadorian language, so he had to rely on the translator that was built into the helmet – assuming the Qadorians followed code and installed translators in their helmets, that was. Everyone was _supposed_ to, but that didn’t mean they did.

“Hey! You there!” called a voice from behind him.

Unless the man was speaking Altean, at least that answered the question about the translators. Alfor turned and raised a hand in greeting.

“Hello,” he said awkwardly.

The Qadorian stalked forward and lifted one of the empty sleeves of the suit. “Haven’t seen you here before. I think I’d remember a guy missing two arms.”

“I have very convincing prosthetics,” said Alfor, hoping his Altean accent wasn’t too strong. “I didn’t wear them today.”

“Hmm,” said the Qadorian.

“Well, I had best get back to – my post – yes,” said Alfor, stepping back awkwardly. “Good talk, my friend.”

“Those look like Altean markings,” the Qadorian said suspiciously.

“What?” Alfor managed, well-aware that his voice was probably an octave too high. “Alteans? Here? On this ship? Are you accusing _me_ of being Altean?”

“This is Naxun’s uniform,” said the Qadorian. “And you are not Naxun.”

Alfor’s fake smile fell. “I–“

“Get out of there,” said Coran, “ _now_.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Alfor. “This is not Naxun’s uniform, it is mine. I must be going now.”

He took another step back. The Qadorian grabbed him by the arm.

“Hey!” Alfor protested.

Then there was a gun held up to his forehead. Alfor went cross-eyed trying to look at it, before he refocused his gaze on the Qadorian.

“Don’t worry,” the alien said, “it’s only set to stun you.”

That and Coran’s cry of alarm were the only warnings Alfor got before the trigger was pulled and the world went black.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'm back with another chapter! Qadorians, yet another alien race I made up for this story! XD Also, renamed the story and made a series (because I plan to split this into parts).
> 
> Some headcanons included in this, I guess: Coran is in fact a genius too, just saying. I wasn't sure how far Altean shapeshifting works, but they can clearly change colours and sizes based on the show; however, since that was all Allura changed and I wasn't sure, I didn't give them the ability to grow extra arms or vanish their hair (or markings, as Allura's stayed) or anything like that. The thing with the translators is headcanon, I suppose, as well.
> 
> I hope you guys all enjoyed!! :D Love you all!


	10. The Hostage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The leader of the Qadorian pirates holds Alfor for ransom against his father, demanding the removal of the Altean protection detail in exchange for the return of Alfor.

When Alfor came to, he had the worst headache. He didn’t know where he was either, only that it was dark and cold and the floor was hard. Something tasted metallic, but he wasn’t sure why.

He pushed himself to his feet and put a hand to his forehead. He hissed in pain as his fingers brushed up against a wound, still bleeding sluggishly. He didn’t feel like he’d lost much blood, so he couldn’t have been out too long. He traced the trail of half-dried blood down to his lips and realised belatedly that was what he tasted.

First he tried to figure out where he was. He was pretty sure he wasn’t in his lab, because chances were his father or someone would have already been taking him to the med-bay. Probably. Unless he’d only been out a few minutes? Had he blown something up again?

A sliver of light appeared, then grew, and then was shadowed by a figure. Alfor couldn’t make out details out the moment, but he knew quickly that whoever it was wasn’t Altean – the four arms were a dead giveaway.

“Ah,” he – or, at least, it sounded like a he – said, “you’re awake.”

“Who are you?” Alfor asked. His voice sounded off, wrong. “Where am I?”

“You are on my ship,” said the man amicably. “My men said you snuck onto their ship and tried to disguise yourself as one of them.”

Alfor… did not remember this.

That probably was a bad sign.

“Look, I’m sorry for whatever,” said Alfor, even though he was pretty sure that he wasn’t actually really sorry for anything.

“You’re sorry for the weather?” the man repeated dubiously.

“ _Whatever_ ,” Alfor forced out. “Just – where is my father?”

“Your father?” said the man. “I wouldn’t know. On Altea, I suppose. Who is your father, boy?”

“My father is the king of Altea,” Alfor said. “Return me to him. If you have kidnapped me, or something, he will be very angry.”

The man was still silhouetted darkly in the light from what Alfor figured was an open door, but Alfor was pretty sure he was smiling now.

“Yes, yes, I will certainly return you,” agreed the man. “For a price. The Altean ships have been a pain lately, hindering our _trade_ with the Galra. I’m sure he’d remove them if it meant he got his precious son back.”

Dread settled in the pit of Alfor’s stomach. 

“I think he would first send people to rescue me,” he said, “It would be better for you to just return me.”

“Nonsense, _your highness_ ,” said the man. “After all, if your father sends people to rescue you – well, all they’ll be rescuing is a dead body. Can you walk?”

Alfor didn’t remember why he’d snuck onto a ship, but he immediately decided it was a terrible decision. _If_ he got out of this, he’d be in major trouble with his father.

“Can you walk?” the man asked again. He almost sounded friendly.

“I am not going anywhere with you,” Alfor said defiantly.

“Children,” the man said, shaking his head. “Guards! Escort the young prince to the communications room.”

He turned and left out the open doorway. Two other men entered after him; Alfor inched backwards, but he stumbled dizzily and the men grabbed him by the arms. Alfor struggled against their grip.

“Let go,” he demanded. “I am not going _anywhere_ with you, let me _go_!”

“Oh, and,” the man called back to them, “the boy talks too much. Fix that.”

Alfor continued to struggle as one of the men tied what seem to be a piece of cloth tightly around his mouth; he even continued to try to argue, but his voice was muffled. The two men were both stronger than he was, and he ended up being dragged out of the room. He blinked rapidly against the light; it only made his headache (which he was beginning to think was actually a concussion) worse. Despite this, he tried to put up as much resistance as he could, firmly planting his feet where they were.

He wasn’t doing much good, honestly, but even though it seemed he had gotten himself into this mess, he wasn’t going to let them use him as leverage against his father without a fight.

They stopped in an open door. Alfor could see inside as the man from before – he supposed this was the leader of the Qadorian bandits – pulled up a screen. A few moments later, it showed the main meeting room of the Castle, where Father and the other leaders from the Alliance were all gathered. He was pretty sure he was out of their view right now, but he wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.

“King Almir of Altea,” said the Qadorian leader. “And this must be your little alliance.”

“Qadorian scum,” hissed Zarkon.

“Peace,” said Trigel.

“If you have come to demand I remove my ships again,” said Father, “then I am afraid my answer has not changed.”

“I think it will in a moment,” said the Qadorian. “You see, King Almir, I have something you want.”

He made a strange gesture with one of his arms, and then the men were dragging Alfor forward again. He watched how his father’s eyes widen in horror as he came into view, how Blaytz shot out of his seat, how the other Alliance members frowned and glared.

“Alfor,” said Father in shock.

“What did you do to him?” demanded Blaytz.

“Me? I did nothing to him,” said the Qadorian. “He was found sneaking around on one of my ships, you see. Imagine my surprise to find out the King of Altea sent his son to spy on me!”

That didn’t sound like something Father would do.

“I did not send him,” said Father.

“No matter,” said the Qadorian. “He is here now, and if you would like him back, then you will remove your ships.”

Father looked furious – more furious that Alfor had ever seen him.

“How low you have fallen, using a father’s son against him,” rumbled Gyrgan.

“I will give you three vargas to order your ships to withdraw,” said the Qadorian calmly. “After that… well I can’t promise you’ll get your son back in one piece.”

Alfor scowled at the Qadorian, but the man ignored him.

“Do not touch my son,” said Father darkly.

In response the Qadorian grabbed Alfor by the arm and pulled him over. The guards let go, and Alfor took that as his chance to fight back and swing a punch at the leader. The man was caught by surprise and released his grip on Alfor. Alfor ripped the cloth away from his mouth.

“Kid, don’t do anything stupid,” Blaytz said.

“When do I ever?” said Alfor, before taking off for the door. He could escape, and then the Qadorians would have no leverage. At the least his father wouldn’t have to clean up another one of Alfor’s messes–

“Alfor!” his father yelled, but his voice was cut off by the sound of one of the Qadorians firing a gun. Alfor turned and dodged to the side; he almost fell over as a wave of dizziness hit him. The gun went off again; Alfor cried out as the laser hit his shoulder, but he continued stumbling for the door, determined to escape on his own.

One of the guards grabbed him and slammed him against the wall. Alfor gasped as the back of his head hit the metal; this was only making his concussion a lot worse. Two of the guard’s hands wrapped around his neck.

“Unhand my son!” yelled Father.

“Don’t kill the boy yet,” said the leader of the Qadorians.

The hands tightened. Alfor struggled against his captor, gasping futilely for air. His vision darkened.

Within a few more ticks, his world fell into darkness.

 

 

Alfor woke to a pounding headache and the sounds of a fight. He didn’t know where he was. He had a vague idea that it was not good, wherever he was. He tried to push himself upward, but the motion and pressure sent a sharp pain through his shoulder, and he lowered himself back to the floor.

He wasn’t in his lab. He was pretty sure he hadn’t blown anything up.

So _what_ had happened to him?

He tried to take inventory of his injuries, but his head was foggy and he couldn’t manage to concentrate. His shoulder. Definitely his shoulder. His head. His… neck? That one didn’t make sense. The rest he could sort of think of explanations for, even through the fog, but he had no clue why his neck hurt.

There was a sudden bang as a door slammed open. Alfor winced at the loud sound.

“Kid!” came Blaytz’s familiar voice, too loud but Alfor couldn’t bring himself to protest. “Kid, look at me, look at me.”

Blaytz carefully shifted him and gathered him into his arms. Some sort of dark olive-coloured something stained his clothing; Alfor, too tired and fuzzy-headed to care right now, leaned against his friend’s chest.

“We’re here, kid, you’re going to be fine,” said Blaytz.

The sounds of the fight were slowing now. Someone else entered the room, but Alfor didn’t realise who it was until Zarkon was tilting his head up and a scowl was crossing his face.

“He does not look good,” murmured the Galran.

“We’re going to get you back to Altea, kid,” murmured Blaytz. Alfor managed a nod. His friend stood, and Alfor closed his eyes as they exited the room into the light. “Stay awake for me, kid. Concussions are nasty business, don’t want to mess with it.”

“I don’t know what happened,” Alfor mumbled.

“What did he say?” Zarkon demanded.

“He doesn’t know what happened,” said Blaytz, something like worry tinging his voice.

“That is not good,” said Zarkon. “Prince Alfor, what is the last thing you remember?”

“I don’t know,” Alfor tried to reply, except it sounded skewed and weird to him.

“He doesn’t know,” said Blaytz.

Zarkon cursed loudly in Galran. “Do you know who we are?”

“Zarkon and Blaytz,” Alfor said.

Zarkon harrumphed. “Good. Hurry to the ship before more Qadorians come.”

“Is he okay?” came Gyrgan’s low, concerned voice.

“He will be once we get him to Altea,” said Blaytz. Alfor wished his friend would slow down; the jostling wasn’t helping his head at all. “Still with me, kid?”

“Yes,” Alfor said, not bothering to open his eyes. “Is Father angry?”

Blaytz hummed noncommittally. The sound rumbled in his chest. “I think he’s more worried, kid. He’ll be angry once you’re okay again, but it’s looking like you won’t even remember this conversation once you get out of the cryopod.”

“Why?” Alfor asked. No matter his headache, or how weird his voice sounded, or how talking hurt his throat, he felt a lot better asking questions and trying to understand what had happened.

“You’ve got a bad concussion, kid,” said Blaytz. “You don’t remember why, apparently, and you won’t remember this later.”

“Why do I have a concussion?” he asked.

“You’re going to need to repeat that more clearly,” said Blaytz.

“Speaking is likely painful for him, Blaytz,” chided Trigel’s voice.

“Why do I have a concussion?” Alfor asked again, trying to focus on making his words clearer.

“Couldn’t tell you for sure,” said Blaytz. “When they found you on their ship, they probably knocked you out.”

“Whose ship?” asked Alfor.

“Some Qadorian ship,” said Blaytz. “Coran told us you were intending to get information. You’ll get yelled at for it later, when you’ll remember getting yelled at.”

“Oh,” said Alfor. “I think I’m going to go to sleep.”

“No, no, Alfor,” said Blaytz. “Stay awake for me, kid. Better safe than sorry, okay?”

“Okay,” said Alfor. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, Alfor,” said Blaytz. “Don’t talk if it hurts you.”

Alfor tried to nod, but that also hurt. He wanted to stay awake, at the very least to reassure his friend. Unfortunately sleep – quiet and painless – was seeming more and more appealing with every one of Blaytz’s footsteps.

“Sorry,” he whispered again, before he succumbed to unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should be an expert on concussions with how much research I had to do writing my books, yet I did even more research for this chapter because none of my characters have had a concussion this bad before. I also had to do research on the whole strangling thing... yeah, I did a lot of research for this chapter. 
> 
> Not really any headcanons in this chapter, I believe.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed! For being basically a whump chapter it was remarkably hard for me to write, or at least harder than usual XD. Love you guys!


	11. Only a Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zarkon furiously reprimands Alfor for running off on his own; humiliated and disappointed in himself, Alfor decides to prove himself by returning to the ship he was held on and taking out the Qadorian leader himself.

Alfor was, sadly, somewhat used to waking up from a stay in a cryopod, but usually he remembered why he was in there in the first place. This time, as he stumbled out of the pod and his steadfast best friend Coran steadied him, he could find _nothing_ that he’d done to injure himself bad enough to need actual medical attention and not mere first aid. Really, the last thing he could definitively recall was talking to Coran at a meal that was probably breakfast.

“How are you feeling?” asked Coran softly.

“Mild headache,” said Alfor after a moment. “Kind of sore throat? Somewhat tired. What happened?”

Coran nodded. “What do you remember?”

“Breakfast,” he said with certainty. Then he winced and gave his friend an apologetic look because everything else was a blank and trying to figure it out just made his headache worse. “Then nothing. How long was I out?”

“Not too long,” said Coran carefully. “Just a few quintants. Like, four?”

Alfor stared at him.

“ _Four quintants_ ,” he repeated in horror. “What the _quiznak_ did I do to myself?”

“Do you want the summary or all the medical jargon? And, for once, you didn’t do it to yourself,” said Coran amusedly, though the worry was still evident in his features. “Though you did in part bring it upon yourself. You went to spy on the Qadorians, alone.”

“Why would I do that?” Alfor asked incredulously.

“To shorten a long story,” said Coran, “we _overheard_ a conversation the Alliance was having with your father and you decided to take matters into your own hands. Except you got captured. And held hostage. Then according to King Almir you tried to escape, but that just made things worse.”

“Oh,” said Alfor.

“Your father is not pleased,” Coran warned. “He can’t go too hard on you, though. You don’t remember any of it.”

“Not a bit,” confirmed Alfor. “Can I get the summary? My head hurts too much for medical jargon.”

“Mild headache,” scoffed Coran. “Well, let’s see, ah – concussion, very bad concussion. Bad burns to your shoulder. And then some deep bruising to your neck.”

“Huh,” said Alfor. “Well, I’m sure it could have been worse.”

“The last thing you remember is breakfast almost five quintants ago,” said Coran dubiously.

“And I was in the cryopod for four of those quintants,” said Alfor. “I should probably hide from my father now. Even if I don’t remember, I am sure he’s still angry. Perhaps if I hide in my lab I can escape.”

“Doubt it,” said Coran. “Besides, I bet you’re starving. I’ve been working on a new recipe!”

Alfor nodded decisively. “To the kitchens it is!”

 

 

Fun fact: neither Alfor nor Coran could actually cook, and everyone was aware of it except perhaps Coran. Alfor was vaguely aware they were terrible cooks, but he wasn’t a very picky eater, so at least _he_ would eat everything they made. The kitchen staff was also very aware. Most of them fled the room the moment the two friends walked in.

Alfor wasn’t even sure what Coran had made this time, but it tasted alright so he didn’t complain and even took a bit of it to take back to the lab with him. Alfor had decided to tinker with little things until his father inevitably came to yell at him. He was kind of surprised that it hadn’t happened yet. Usually when he got injured enough to land himself in a cryopod, his father was furious, because it usually meant he did something reckless and stupid again. Trying to infiltrate the Qadorians alone sounded pretty reckless and stupid, but Alfor was sure he had a good reason for it.

The halls weren’t too busy that day, especially some of the side halls that he liked to take. It usually made the trip from his lab to the kitchen or vice versa fairly quick and simple.

There were voices coming from inside one of the rooms. Alfor, curious as he was, had to stop and crack the door open to peer in. Yes, it was rude, and yes it was probably none of his business, but–

“–almost got himself killed!” Zarkon was saying. Alfor’s brows raised. The rest of the Alliance was in the room as well. Blaytz and Zarkon seemed to be arguing, which didn’t really surprise Alfor in the slightest. He almost announced himself, but then Zarkon continued. “Prince Alfor will be a valuable ally one day, but as of right now–”

“He was trying to help!” Blaytz snapped back.

Alfor froze. They were arguing about _him_. He didn’t even know what he’d done, but apparently it had been stupid enough that Zarkon was angry about it.

“He is a child,” said Trigel. “He is learning, like we all had to.”

“Exactly, he is a child,” said Zarkon. “And children have no place in battle.”

“You weren’t saying that about the Nalquodians you fought,” challenged Blaytz. “He’s hardly a baby, he’s nineteen.”

“He is a child!” Zarkon retorted. “His presence on the team is merely putting himself and the rest of us in danger. Children are not meant for battle!”

Alfor tried not to be hurt by his teammate’s words, but they stung anyway. He’d thought, at least, that he had Zarkon’s approval. Now it seemed he’d messed that up.

“So what?” said Blaytz. “You’re going to kick him off the team? You have no right–“

“I have been talking with Almir,” said Zarkon.

“Don’t you dare,” hissed Blaytz.

Alfor had had enough. He forced down the hurt and pushed the door open. “So instead of talking to me about any of this, you decided to discuss my incompetence behind my back?”

They all turned to face him, eyes wide. Blaytz’s fins and antennae dropped.

“Kid,” he said.

That kind of hurt too, this time, even though Blaytz always called him that. The rest of his team thought he was a little kid. That was – that was fine. He didn’t care. He knew he wasn’t.

Who was he kidding?

“I am _not_ a child,” Alfor said, because whether he wanted to admit it or not he _hated_ the idea that his teammates thought him a child. “I am perfectly capable–“

“You almost died!” said Zarkon.

“At least I did something!” Alfor shot back. “Maybe I’m not the best fighter in the universe, or a particularly good actor, or anything of that sort, but at least I’m trying!”

“Your father should have waited until you were ready,” said Zarkon coldly, “as you are clearly _not_.”

Alfor tried to find a good response to that, but he was too angry and hurt to come up with something.

“Zarkon–“ Blaytz started disapprovingly.

“I am _not_ a child,” Alfor bit out.

“Then do not act like one,” replied Zarkon shortly.

Alfor clenched his fists and gave Zarkon the best glare he could manage. The man was unfazed and unimpressed. Finally, Alfor turned around and stormed out of the room.

The worst part of it?

Alfor _wasn’t_ sure that Zarkon was wrong.

 

 

He found Coran back in the kitchen. His best friend looked surprised to see him again so soon, and even more surprised at his mood.

“Do I need to beat someone up?” he offered jokingly.

“I need you to tell me everything I can’t remember,” Alfor demanded.

Coran blinked at him. “Alfor – I’m not sure that’s a very good idea.”

“Coran, this is important,” insisted Alfor. “How did I get captured?”

Coran sighed. “Like I said. You tried to infiltrate and spy on the Qadorians in order to help the Alliance. A Qadorian saw through your disguise and captured you and took you to the leader, and then you were held hostage. The Alliance rescued you. That’s all I know.”

Alfor nodded slowly. That was still basically the information he’d gotten before. “The Qadorians are the ones targeting Galran ships.”

“Yes,” said Coran.

There was an idea.

Zarkon couldn’t think he wasn’t ready if Alfor could defeat the leader of the Qadorians. Not that Alfor was particularly confident that he _could_ defeat the leader of the Qadorians, but surely he’d have a chance if he was properly armed. He wouldn’t go properly armed for a stealth mission. This wouldn’t be a stealth mission.

The last time he faced the Qadorians alone, it sounded like he’d taken quite the beating. The more logical side of him told him that doing this would prove nothing and possibly get him killed.

The more emotional, hurt, and angry side told him to go for it anyway.

“Did Father save the coordinates of the leader’s ship?” Alfor asked as innocently as possible.

“It’s in the database,” said Coran hesitantly. He narrowed his eyes. “You have that face.”

“What face?” said Alfor.

“The same one you had before you snuck into the Qadorian ship,” said Coran suspiciously. “The one you always get before you do something _incredibly_ stupid.”

Ah. Coran knew him far too well.

“I won’t do anything stupid,” said Alfor, which was somewhat lying through his teeth. “If anyone asks, I am in my lab.”

“Where are you going?” said Coran.

“Don’t worry,” said Alfor.

“Every single time you say that, I worry more,” said Coran. “Where are you going?”

Alfor paused in the doorway and glanced back at his friend seriously. “I am going to prove myself.”

 

 

Alfor found the information he needed pretty quickly and loaded it onto a pod. He wasn’t sure what all he’d brought last time, but this time at least he brought his quintessence-sword and armour and was prepared for a fight. He would show Zarkon that he wasn’t a child. If he could capture the leader of the Qadorians, bring him back to Altea – then he’d prove to Zarkon and Father and everyone that he was perfectly capable of being part of the Alliance.

He wasn’t even sure why it had become such a big deal to him. He’d been pretty against joining at first, but something about being doubted lit a fire that drove him to – well, sneak off to once again confront Qadorians alone. Without the amnesia-inducing concussion, this time. Or whatever other injuries he might have gotten.

The flight was actually relatively short. The Qadorians were positioned within their system. Alfor didn’t know why Zarkon hadn’t just sent people to get everything done with, until he realised upon arriving that there were no ships in sight.

So, either they were cloaked, or they had moved.

Wonderful.

Alfor leaned back in his seat and tapped his fingers on his thigh. Now what? He had no lead as to where they’d be now, and flying around the entire system would take ages. He had somewhat hoped to be back before anyone realised he was gone, but he also suspected Coran _may_ have told someone his plan.

Finally, an idea struck him.

“The transmission signal,” he breathed, pulling up the data he’d commandeered from the Castle databases and searching through it for the transmission signal. If Alfor had been held hostage, then surely they must have called his father – and hopefully from their base. He got to what would have been the right date. There were only a couple signals, so he picked out one and played it.

There on the screen was tall, sinister-looking Qadorian. He was speaking, so Alfor turned on the volume to hear.

_“You see, King Almir, I have something you want.”_

Alfor watched in morbid fascination as, in the video, he was dragged, struggling, into view. He did not remember this, and by the blood streaking his image’s face, he could guess why he didn’t.

He shut off the transmission, but made a note to come back to it later and see what happened. Then he began working at tracing the signal. It took longer than he’d hoped, and a bit more finagling to get past the encryptions, but finally he had coordinates – and they were nearby.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “Qadorians, here I come.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY GUYS! I'M BACK!
> 
> I had a chance to finally finish this chapter tonight and so I did. I know it's been a while, but, you know, college. This was sort of my destress after my linguistics test today (yesterday? It's like two o'clock in the morning, whatever).
> 
> Some headcanons, I guess:  
> Yes, Alfor injures himself fairly often, but not usually this bad.  
> No, neither he nor Coran can cook but they'll both eat what they cook so? 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter!! <3


	12. Friends Will Follow You Anywhere in the Galaxy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On route to the Qadorian base, Alfor discovers an unexpected stowaway has come with him.

Alfor had a plan.

Mostly.

Somewhat.

Alright, he had a plan _for_ a plan, and that was going to have to be good enough. He was fairly good at doing things without a real, actual plan. He and Coran often rushed into things, and it almost always turned out with minimal injuries. He figured he could manage just as well on his own. Probably.

He’d watched the rest of the video after setting the ship on the coordinates. It had been – unsettling, to say the least, and he was rather glad he didn’t remember it. He felt bad, because he knew seeing the video must have scared his father to some degree. He’d have to make sure that didn’t occur again. It didn’t look particularly pleasant – he had very little experience having his oxygen cut off like that, and he didn’t want to get anymore.

There was a fairly good chance the others knew he was gone right now. Even if Coran had lied for him, someone would have checked his lab and he wouldn’t have been in there. Alfor wondered if Coran had told his father, after all – he wouldn’t have been shocked. Coran did seem under the impression that Alfor was going to get himself killed – which Alfor was _not_ , he was perfectly capable of this task. It stung to think that even his best friend thought him incompetent, but he forced the thought away.

“It’s his _policy_ ,” muttered Alfor to himself. “Of course he’d tell Father. He’s worried. It’s not anything to do with you or your abilities.”

“The more you talk to yourself, the more I’m going to _worry_ ,” said Coran’s voice.

Alfor jumped and spun around in his seat. Coran stood at the back of the cockpit, arms crossed, thoroughly unamused.

“ _What_ are you _doing here_?” Alfor asked in alarm.

“You thought I wouldn’t follow you after your last stunt?” scoffed Coran. “So. We’re going after the Qadorians, like I thought you would.”

“We’re – no, _we_ are not doing anything,” said Alfor. “ _You_ are going to – to – I don’t know, it’s too late to bring you back to Altea!”

“I know,” said Coran cheekily. He walked over and sat in the co-pilot’s seat, fiddling with the controls but not doing anything Alfor really recognised. Coran did that _a lot_. “That’s why I hung out in the back until now.”

“You are conniving and sneaky,” Alfor accused.

“ _You_ are reckless and headstrong,” he retorted. “You need someone to at least watch your back.”

“You couldn’t have watched my back from Altea?”

“Because that worked so well last time.”

“I don’t remember last time!”

“Exactly!”

Alfor scowled and leaned back in his seat, crossing his own arms. There was no choice but to give in now. “Fine. Did you at least bring a weapon?”

“What do you take me for?” said Coran, almost insulted. “I brought a sword. Not as fancy as yours – which I trust you won’t _overuse_ again.”

“What do you take me for?” Alfor mimicked. Finally, he offered his friend a smile, which Coran returned. “Alright then, my friend. I admit I am glad to have you here.”

“I know,” said Coran brightly. “So what’s the plan?”

Alfor blinked at him.

“Yes,” he said, suddenly regretting his lack of a plan now that he was actually being called out on it. “The plan. That exists. There is a plan and it exists.”

“Yeah, I thought as much,” said Coran after a moment, shaking his head. “Well, lucky for you, while you were up here wasting time doing who knows what, I was able to mess with the mechanics of this old thing and install some form of cloaking. It’ll only last a few ticks, but probably long enough to get us in close. Go on, then. You can say it.”

Alfor laughed. “Coran, my friend, you are a genius.”

“Thank you,” said Coran with a grin.

“And I wasn’t wasting time,” Alfor added. “I was researching.”

“Researching,” repeated Coran.

“Researching,” confirmed Alfor.

“And what exactly were you researching??” said Coran suspiciously.

“What – ah – not to do,” said Alfor carefully.

Coran raised an eyebrow. “You found the transmission and watched yourself get beat up.”

“When you put it that way it sounds incredibly strange,” complained Alfor.

“I still don’t understand why you think this is a good idea,” said Coran. “Why not take your Alliance buddies? I’m sure Blaytz would have been happy to help.”

Alfor frowned and looked away. The stars sped past – even though the Qadorians were still in the system, they were on the other side of the system, so it was a decent flight from Altea. They’d be there fairly soon, but not soon enough to be back before dinner, which might have been Alfor’s original (thwarted) plan. In retrospect, he wouldn’t have made it back before dinner either way. Watching the video – even uninjured, he was probably rather outmatched.

Maybe Zarkon was right. Maybe he wasn’t ready for this, and now he was just going to get both himself and his best friend killed.

“Oh, dear,” said Coran. “I have to beat up the rest of the Alliance, don’t I?”

“No!” exclaimed Alfor. “No, please don’t.”

“I knew something had happened,” his friend said. “What did they say to you? Royalty or not, I _will_ yell at them. Is this why you feel the sudden need to _prove yourself_?”

Then he paused. A worrisome smile crossed his features.

“Or do you _like_ one of them?” he asked slyly.

Alfor’s face flushed. “Coran!”

“Aha!” said Coran triumphantly. Alfor didn’t know what in his one-word response had implied that his friend was right. “It’s Blaytz, isn’t it?”

Alfor’s face heated up even further. “ _Coran!_ ”

“It is!” Coran crowed.

“No – _Coran_ ,” Alfor buried his red face in his hands. “Why are you like this? It’s nothing like _that_. I – I just need to prove that I _do_ belong on this team and that I _am_ ready.”

Coran’s face sobered quickly. He clearly sensed that now was not the time to be teasing Alfor about romance of any sort. “Which of them told you that you _aren’t ready_?”

“Which do you think?” muttered Alfor. “Zarkon. But – they _all_ think of me as a child.”

“You are just barely scraping legal adulthood,” Coran reminded him.

“Zarkon wants to kick me off the team,” Alfor admitted quietly. Coran’s frowned deepened. “He even said he was going to speak to my father about it. If I cannot prove I am worthy of this then – then I will lose it.”

There was a brief silence. Alfor surveyed the stars again. All the constellations looked different from this part of the solar system. Even their sun looked strange. To the right he could see the Dalterion Belt, sprawling and beautiful and so wonderfully diverse, with everything from forests to ice to water to plain rock.  If he looked far enough past it, he could just make out the desert planet Rygnirath, and past that, a dot that was probably Nalquod.

“Well,” said Coran finally, “it would only be their loss. Any team or alliance would be lucky to have you. If they can’t see that, they aren’t worth it.”

“You are a good friend, Coran,” said Alfor. “But I still must do this.”

“I expected as much,” said Coran. He hesitated, brow furrowing into worry. “Even Blaytz?”

“Even Blaytz…?”

“Even Blaytz called you a child?” Coran clarified.

“Not in so many words,” said Alfor. “But he always calls me _kid_ –”

“I think that’s just his personality,” said Coran, seemingly somewhat relieved. “And he is older than you. I’m certain he thinks you perfectly capable. No need to be insulted – unless you _do_ like him and that’s why you’re so touchy.”

“Can we please _not_ go back to this?” groaned Alfor.

“I’ll drop it,” said Coran with the tone of someone conceding to some very difficult compromise.

“Thank you,” said Alfor.

Coran shot him _that look_. “But we’ll be talking about it later.”

“I hate you,” said Alfor, “so much.”

Coran just grinned. “You’ll get over it. Now we have to think of a proper plan.”

 

 

Alfor took it back. He did not hate Coran. Coran was a blessing because now they had a plan and a much better chance of both surviving and succeeding than Alfor had had when he’d been going in basically blind.

“I took the liberty of sending the coordinates back to the Castle,” said Coran.

“You _what_?” said Alfor.

“We’re going to need back-up at some point,” said Coran matter-of-factly. “Better they at least know where we are. I don’t much want to die.”

“We’re not going to die,” said Alfor. “And we’re not even going to need help.”

“The number of times we’ve needed rescuing tells me otherwise,” said Coran dryly. “Well. There’s the base up ahead. We’ll need to come around that debris so they don’t see us, because like I said, cloaking will only last a few ticks.”

Alfor nodded and carefully brought the ship around the debris Coran had been talking about – some sort of asteroid or space rock or something.

“Alright,” said Coran. “There’s a sixty-three percent chance this will short out the entirety of the ship’s system, so be ready for that.”

Alfor stiffened. Of course there was a catch. There was always a catch. “ _Wait_ –”

Too late. Coran activated the cloaking.

Alfor sped up the ship and raced towards the base while he had a chance. A red light flashed in the corner of the dashboard, which definitely meant bad news, but Alfor ignored it for now.

“Blind spot, there!” said Coran, leaning on the controls and pointing at a shadowed section of the base. “Get into the blind spot, we only have ten more ticks – nine – eight–”

“Don’t need the countdown!” Alfor snapped. They made it into the blind spot just in time for the cloaking to fail, along with the engines, which left them floating in space. Alfor shoved on his helmet. “Alright, I’m going to anchor this thing.”

“Be careful,” warned Coran.

“Always am.”

“No, you’re _not_.”

Alfor ignored him and grabbed a long cord as he exited the ship; he was ninety-five percent sure this was what he needed to anchor the ship to the base, so he opened the door to the outside. Gravity vanished, and he turned on his jetpack in order to make his way out of the ship and to the base’s surface. He attached the cord and then kicked off the base to get back to the ship.

“Easy,” he said as he made his way back to the cockpit and pulled off his helmet. “Now. Where do we get in?”

“There’s a door we can get into just over there,” said Coran. “I think I’ll be able to hack it, at least.”

“I’m very glad you came along,” admitted Alfor.

Coran snorted. “Of course you are. If I weren’t here you’d’ve already been captured.”

Alfor wanted to argue that, but his best friend was already shoving on his helmet and leaving the room. Alfor sighed, shook his head, and followed him. They left the ship together, but Alfor let Coran fly in front of him to show him where to find this supposed door. Upon finding it, Coran promptly set to work on cracking the code to open it.

“Qadorians are so strange,” he grumbled as he worked, “but at least their security is terrible.”

The door slip opened.

“Coran, you genius,” said Alfor.

Coran gave him a smug salute, and they both slipped into the base. The door shut behind them and gravity kicked back in, dropping them both to the floor. Alfor shook his head and pushed himself to his feet, holding his sword at ready in case any Qadorians arrived. His friend mimicked him.

“Lead the way,” he said. “After all, you’ve been here before.”

“I can’t remember it,” Alfor said again.

“And I’m never going to let you forget it, either,” said Coran. “Now. Let’s find that leader before someone else finds us.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO HOW ABOUT SEASON FIVE, GUYS?
> 
> Good news! It gave me ideas for some stuff that'll happen later in this fic! So yay! Bad news! I'm still screaming because SO MUCH. But no spoilers here! Just waiting for season six now!
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. Writing Alfor and Coran is always so much fun. They definitely work best as a team and I love them.
> 
> Headcanons:  
> Um, Alfor's very bi and definitely crushed on Blaytz at some point, fight me.  
> I wasn't entirely sure what I was doing with the whole adulthood thing, but I didn't want it 18 like in the US and I didn't want Alfor to be considered a child so I stuck it at like nineteen?  
> The Dalterion Belt is diverse like Earth except it's like a bunch of mini-planets or something. And Rygnirath looked like a desert planet so that's a thing too.  
> Coran is a genius and you can fight me on that too. 
> 
> I hope you guys liked the chapter! Thanks for reading! Love you all so much! <3


	13. The Dynamic Duo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfor and Coran try their best to get to the Qadorian leader without getting caught, which goes about as well as expected.

Walking down the corridors in the Qadorian ship, Alfor was beginning to regret his glaring lack of preparation for this mission. He was also beginning to seriously appreciate his best friend coming along with him. Coran may have been – overzealous, to say the least – but he was good back-up to have in any sticky situation. Alfor had lost count of the number of times Coran had saved him when they left to get supplies at Unilu Swap Moons or other unsavoury markets without any proper back-up. It was certainly more times than Alfor had saved Coran; the man just had a way of being sneaky.

Alfor still didn’t understand how some of the disguises Coran put them in were any use. They tended to get funny looks, but, whatever. Coran probably knew best.

“Do you even know where we’re going?” Coran muttered to him.

“No,” admitted Alfor. “But we’ll find the leader eventually, and then we just have to knock him out and grab him and get out.”

“I am awed by your planning skills, as usual,” Coran said flatly. “Okay, that’s it. Follow me.”

Alfor would have liked to protest that it was _his_ mission, but when Coran got that tone of voice he knew much better than to argue.

“So you’re saying you have a plan?” Alfor asked.

“Shh,” said Coran in response. “And yes. I do. Stop pouting.”

For the record, Alfor was _not_ pouting.

It didn’t take long for Coran to find whatever he was looking for. He paused outside an open doorway and peered in carefully.

“Okay,” he whispered, “there’s two of them. We can take them, but we need to sneak up on them. Can you manage that?”

Alfor opened his mouth to reply.

“Don’t answer that,” Coran sighed.

The two of them crept around into the room as silently as they could, then both brought the hilts of their swords down on the Qadorians’ heads. The Qadorians crumpled, much to Alfor’s relief, because he wasn’t actually sure they’d manage to knock them out. He knew remarkably little about their species.

“Good,” said Coran, dragging one of the Qadorians to the corner of the room. Alfor followed his lead. “Now, onto business.”

He walked over to the dashboard the Qadorians had been hovering over and attached a device to it. Screens popped up, Altean flashing rapidly across them as Coran started typing on the dashboard.

“You’re hacking into their system,” noted Alfor, impressed. “Wish I had thought of that.”

Coran scoffed. “You can’t hack into anything, Alfor. We’ve been really lucky so far. These two were supposed to be watching the sector of the hip we’ve been sneaking around in, and if they’d been doing their job properly we might’ve been caught. Now that I’m in the system I should be able to remotely disable security and…”

A few more codes later, and a map of the ship popped up. Had Alfor mentioned that he was incredibly glad Coran came along? Because he was.

“We might actually be able to pull this off,” Alfor said brightly.

“Eh, maybe if you suddenly find yourself able to fight off a good number of Qadorians at once,” said Coran. “Otherwise, it might be smarter just to go home with this info.”

“We can do this!” protested Alfor.

“We really can’t,” said Coran. “I know you don’t remember what happened the last time you tried to take on any Qadorians–”

Alfor gestured pointedly to the two unconscious Qadorians in the corner of the room.

Coran sighed exasperatedly. “Besides those two. You watched the tape.”

He winced. He had watched the tape. It hadn’t been good.

“Okay,” said Alfor, “but I am not injured this time, and I have you. We make a good team, Coran, surely we can handle this.”

Coran pressed his lips together and looked at the map again. Then he sighed and started bringing up security footage. Alfor knew his friend well enough to know that this was an agreement, so he leaned over Coran’s shoulder and peered at the screens, slinging an arm over his other shoulder. Coran was completely unbothered by the invasion of his personal space (of course he was, Alfor knew his friend would always put up with his somewhat clingy and tactile nature).

“Do you remember what the leader looked like?” asked Coran.

“You know I don’t remember anything from when I was captured,” said Alfor. “Concussion.”

Coran rolled his eyes. “From the tape. Goodness, for a genius, you’re dense.”

“You know you love me,” said Alfor. “Anyway, I think so. He wore a different uniform than the rest of them, and it looked like he had a scar down the side of his face. It might have been the lighting, though.”

“Well, if you see him, point him out,” said Coran.

Alfor nodded and paid better attention to the security tapes. He guessed that Coran was trying to find where the leader was right now so that they could get to him. The ship was actually remarkably empty, which explained why they hadn’t really run into anyone so far. Alfor had to wonder at that.

Finally, he caught sight of the man he recognised as the leader.

“There!” he said, leaning forward and pointing. Coran stumbled, mostly because Alfor had managed to transfer most of his weight onto his friend, but he nodded and zoomed out the image. As Coran had predicted, there were a lot of other Qadorians in there as well. Getting in, grabbing the leader, and getting out would be a lot harder than Alfor had originally hoped.

“I hate to say I told you so, but…” said Coran smugly.

“Hush,” said Alfor.

“Alright, this looks to be the room he’s in,” muttered Coran. Rather than shrugging Alfor off, he moved the map to the centre and hit one of the rooms. A few more codes typed in and they had directions straight to the leader of the Qadorians. “Doesn’t look like he’ll be leaving anytime soon, either, but I’ve got the map and everything downloaded. If I had more time, I’d try to connect to his suit and get a pinpoint on him.”

“We have time,” Alfor offered.

“No, we don’t,” said Coran. “Alright, come on. I’ll disable the cameras as we go, but it won’t take long for someone to notice once we get out of this sector. Be ready to fight.”

Alfor moved away from his friend as Coran started shutting down everything he’d previously pulled up. Alfor wandered over to the knocked-out Qadorians and gently kicked one of them in the leg, just to make sure they were still out.

“Alright,” said Coran. Alfor turned to face him. He had the map projected from his wristband now. “Let’s go. I sent the map back to the Castle, by the way.”

“Coran!” Alfor exclaimed.

“What?” he said. “I still don’t think we can do this alone. I also sent them the codes to get in and everything. With any luck, they’ll show up to help.”

“And I’ll get yelled at for running off on my own again,” said Alfor mulishly.

“You’re not alone,” said Coran, “you’ve got me. I’m the best back-up you could ask for!”

“Then why are you sending for more back-up?” Alfor asked.

“Just because I’m the best doesn’t mean you should _only_ have me,” reasoned Coran. “Now come on! With a bit of good luck, we might be able to do at least some good before the others show up!”

Alfor brightened and followed his friend out of the room. Coran was right. With some good luck, which usually they had a decent amount of (although it was often paired with copious amounts of _bad_ luck, but Alfor typically tried to ignore that), they’d be able to complete the mission before the other showed up. Then Zarkon would see that Alfor wasn’t just some kid and that he was perfectly capable of being a part of the Intrasystem Alliance.

Coran was right that it was quiet through the sector. Based on Alfor’s view of the map (which had heat signatures on it now – when Coran had done that Alfor didn’t know), they were avoiding corridors that had any people in them. That was fine. Alfor was all for avoiding confrontation. He tried to work out a plan in his head. That had never been his strongest point. Alchemy, he could do. He was even pretty decent at engineering (especially paired with alchemy). But battle strategy? Battle in general? No.

They’d have to take out the other Qadorians first. The moment they were noticed, they’d be facing all of them. Neither he nor Coran was incredibly skilled fighters, so even two on _three_ probably would be bad. Maybe they could take out some of them quietly and unnoticed, but that wouldn’t last long. Alfor wondered if there was a way he could knock them all out at once with his quintessence sword. Coran wouldn’t like that very much, but if it could work, it would certainly give them an advantage. Otherwise–

Maybe Coran was right. Maybe they couldn’t do this alone.

“I have an idea,” he murmured.

Coran sent him a sharp look. “An idea I won’t approve of?”

Alfor hesitated. “Yes.”

Coran looked away. “Then don’t tell me.”

Alfor smiled. That was Coran’s way of telling him to go for it if it came to it. Not that Alfor knew _how_ to go for it.

Thanks to Coran, they managed to avoid most of the Qadorians on their way to the leader. Coran was pretty good at making it so his hacks looked like glitches in the system, or even just looping security footage while they walked by to prevent suspicion. Alfor was confident in his friend’s skills – if Coran could fool everyone at the Castle, then surely he could fool the Qadorians.

Then came the point where they could hide no longer. The part of the ship the leader in was busier.

“Fight time,” muttered Coran to him.

In their defence, they tried not to fight. Sometimes just walking in like they owned the place confused people enough that they wouldn’t attack. It worked on the Qadorians at first too, until one of them snapped out of it and charged. Coran shot him down with a gun Alfor hadn’t even known he had.

“Did you just…?” Alfor asked uneasily.

“Oh, no,” laughed Coran brightly. “Set to stun. Got it from those other Qadorians we knocked out. Want one?”

“I’m good,” said Alfor.

The Qadorians broke out of their surprise and attacked. Alfor did his best to limit his quintessence use with the sword, and also just use the sword to knock out the Qadorians. Coran, wielding both guns with skill Alfor had only vaguely known he had, took out a lot more and lot easier.

“When did you learn how to do this?” Alfor asked him over the sounds of the fight.

“Eh, been training,” said Coran cheerfully. “I save you sorry tail enough that I ought to know how to do it in a lot of ways.”

Alfor laughed and shook his head. That sounded like Coran, alright.

Unfortunately, they were greatly outnumbered, and Alfor wasn’t sure how much longer they could keep this up. The last straw came when one of the Qadorians got in a lucky shot that hit Coran in the upper chest and caused him to stumble and drop one of his guns. Alfor went to help his friend, only to find a knife at his throat.

“Nice try, Altean,” said the Qadorian lowly.

“Hey, Coran?” Alfor called, careful of the blade at his neck. Coran gave him an alarmed look and aimed the gun he still had, but they were surrounded and Alfor knew his friend couldn’t shoot without hitting him too. “I’ve got a plan.”

Coran looked resigned. “I’m not going to like this.”

A couple of Qadorians exchanged confused looks. Alfor head-butted the guy behind him, luckily freeing himself in the process, because that had been risky in and of itself, then dropped the floor and drove his sword into it, fully intending to release a shockwave of quintessence that would knock all of the Qadorians out (and hopefully _not_ him).

It didn’t _quite_ work like that, but the resulting shockwave shook the ship and knocked several Qadorians off their feet. An alarm went off, loud and blaring, scarlet painting the walls. While steadying himself, Coran pulled up the map again, along with a couple of other screens, then closed his eyes in what might have been frustration. The Qadorians nearest him looked alarmed.

“Alfor,” said Coran finally, “this ship runs on an explosive liquid fuel source.”

“And?” said Alfor.

“And you just _stabbed_ one of the tanks holding it,” Coran said. Alfor’s eyes widened and he glanced down. Sure enough, dark liquid bubble around his sword. “One wrong move, and we all go _kaboom_.”

Alfor swallowed. “Oh, dear.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I know it's been a while, and I am so sorry - the rest of the semester was crazy, and then I've been working a lot on job applications and my original work (GOOD NEWS! My second book should be up on Amazon pretty soon!), so I haven't had much time for fics, but here is the next chapter! Alfor and Coran being disasters together - this was a lot of fun to write!
> 
> Some headcanons:  
> I've said it before, I'll say it again: Coran is a genius.  
> Alfor is like super touchy-feely, all of the time.  
> Coran tries to veto Alfor's bad ideas, really, he does, but the best he can really do is tame them a bit.  
> Yes, Coran can fight, to a point.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! I enjoyed writing it!


	14. Into the Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfor and Coran face off against the Qadorians with some unexpected but not unwelcome help.

Alfor had done a lot of very stupid things in his short nineteen deca-phoebs in the universe. He was, in fact, told almost once a movement that something he was doing was incredibly dumb. Oftentimes Alfor didn’t agree with that.

But this?

This had to be one of the stupidest things he had ever managed.

“Stay calm,” said Coran. “Your sword is connected to your quintessence and your quintessence is connected to your emotions – another shockwave like the last one could blow the whole ship to smithereens!”

Alfor nodded hesitantly. “Right, yes.”

“Maybe just let go of the sword?” said Coran.

“And lose our only leverage?” Alfor protested.

It was certainly the wrong thing to say, going by Coran’s expression. “What _leverage_?”

“You blow up this ship, boy, and you die too,” warned one of the Qadorians.

Alfor had no intentions of blowing up the ship. He did not want to die, and he did not want Coran to die – and honestly, he did not want anyone to die. The Qadorians didn’t need to know that, though.

“I am aware,” said Alfor.

He shot his friend a look. Coran caught on very quickly, which was good, because Coran was a much better actor and liar than he was. “That’s right. We’re willing to die for the sake of our mission! Can you say the same?”

Many of the Qadorians exchanged uneasy looks. Coran smirked triumphantly. Alfor had figured this would be the case – the Qadorians were bandits and pirates, and their loyalty evidently only extended so far.

“We won’t stop you from fleeing,” Alfor offered innocently, which was true. They were only really here for the leader.

“I might,” said a new voice. Alfor tightened his grip on the sword as the leader of the Qadorian bandits walked out of the room he’d been in and smiled almost pleasantly, spreading all four of his arms in a welcoming gesture. “Prince Alfor. A pleasure to see you again.”

“I’m afraid the sentiment is not shared,” said Alfor warily.

“I see you brought a friend,” said the leader.

“I can blow this whole thing to pieces,” threatened Alfor. “And what’s more – my father will triple the Altean firepower against you. He will blame you and your men for my death.”

“You wouldn’t,” said the leader.

“You severely underestimate Alfor’s stupidity and recklessness,” said Coran flatly.

Alfor shot his best friend an annoyed look.

“I suppose it isn’t a risk I can take, is it?” said the leader. “Very well. What do you want, boy?”

“Er, well – we came to capture you,” said Alfor. “So if you come with us, your men will be spared.”

The leader looked highly unimpressed. “You expected two children to be able to capture me?”

Alfor decided against protesting about the children comment, and also against admitting that he was originally coming alone.

“Well, I wouldn’t say we’re doing a bad job,” said Alfor.

“Unfortunately, your gamble will not pay off,” said the leader. He nodded his head.

Coran’s brow furrowed, then his eyes widened in shock. “Alfor, watch out! Behind you!”

“What?” managed Alfor, before he was grabbed from behind and thrown across the room. He hit the wall hard. Unluckily enough, he’d kept his grip on his sword, and now the fuel was spewing into the room as if from a geyser.

“Seal that!” demanded the leader. “Grab the prince. Dispose of the orange one. He is unnecessary.”

“No!” Alfor shouted. He forced his way past several Qadorians, doing his best not to cause permanent damage but also to knock them out. He needn’t have worried too much about Coran, because his friend had already fought away from his would-be captors. Alfor ran at the leader instead. The man drew dual knives to block his attack.

“Foolish boy!” he snarled. “You are outnumbered.”

“And you can’t use guns,” Alfor noted smugly. “One wrong move will blow up all the fuel.”

The man kicked Alfor’s feet from under him, pinning him to the ground. Alfor struggled against him and realised in dread that he’d fallen right into the puddle of fuel on the floor.

“I don’t want to kill you, boy,” said the leader. “You’re right that King Almir would retaliate with the full force of his army, and I don’t want that. That doesn’t mean you’re safe.”

He withdrew one of his knives, and before Alfor could react he stabbed it into Alfor’s upper arm, effectively leaving that arm trapped to the floor. Alfor cried out in pain.

“ _Alfor_!” yelled Coran in alarm.

Alfor was not going to lose again. He readjusted his grip on his sword to use it with his good arm, and then blindly pulled it away. The Qadorian hissed and leaned back, a new, bleeding wound across his chest. Alfor swallowed harshly. He hadn’t meant to do that.

He transferred the sword to his bad arm, then reached over to yank out the knife and unpin himself. He knocked the Qadorian off of him and stood shakily. His arm was wet from more than the fuel now, the blood dripping down his armour in crimson rivulets.

Coran ran to his side, clearly ready for a fight. “Are you okay?”

“It’s just a little stab wound,” reasoned Alfor. “I’ll be fine.”

“You’re outnumbered,” said the Qadorian leader. He was very clearly furious. “You’re injured. You cannot win.”

“Maybe not alone,” Alfor said.

“But he is not alone!” came the familiar albeit surprising voice of Zarkon. Alfor turned his head as the rest of the Alliance ran into view, all four ready for battle. Along with them was a squad of Altean soldiers _and_ Alfor’s father. Alfor met his eyes, and he offered him a small smile before his face turned dark and angry again.

The Qadorian leader snarled. “Back-up! You brought back-up!”

“Of course they did,” said Trigel, although her sharp glare told Alfor that she knew very well that he had never planned to tell them about his plan. “Now, surrender.”

“I think not,” said the Qadorian. “Men! Attack!”

The Qadorians rushed at the Altean squad and the rest of the Alliance. Meanwhile, their leader lunged at Alfor and Coran again. They split apart to dodge, and the Qadorian turned his attention onto only Alfor. Thus he was caught off-guard when one of Coran’s shots caught him in the back. He stumbled and turned angrily.

“Careful,” he hissed. “Your friend is covered in fuel.”

Coran’s expression hardened. “Yes, well, Alfor has a surprising ability to survive explosions. Do you?”

The leader scowled, the made a strange clicking sound that drew a couple of Qadorian soldiers back to them. “Take care of the orange one. The prince has been more of a problem than I imagined. _I_ will end him.”

Oh, dear.

Alfor was in trouble.

At least, aside from the fact that Alfor was a terribly inexperienced fighter, they were both at equal disadvantage. Well, not really. Alfor was already feeling dizzy from blood loss. That wasn’t good at all. The Qadorian wasn’t losing nearly as much blood.

If he could just stun him…

“Coran!” he yelled, suddenly struck with an idea. “Throw me one of your guns!”

“ _What_!?” said Coran, busily fighting off two Qadorians with the sword he’d brought along. “No! The guns are a _bad idea_!”

“Just trust me!” Alfor insisted.

Coran shot him the look that said he did not trust him in the slightest, but threw him a gun anyway. Alfor was… well, not the best with guns, but he didn’t actually need to be. He aimed it at the Qadorian.

“Are you going to shoot me?” he laughed incredulously. “Standing in all that fuel? Covered in it? Go ahead, boy, _shoot_.”

Oh, Alfor hoped this gun didn’t have any sort of backfire that would set him on fire.

He pulled the trigger.

The Qadorian’s eyes widened, and he dove to the side to dodge. The shot of energy hit the wall, and luckily nothing exploded or caught on fire. Alfor tried again, and the Qadorian snarled and ran towards him after dodging.

Alfor didn’t react in time, and the Qadorian pinned him to the floor again. Alfor grimaced as they both skidded backwards in the liquid fuel, and the Qadorian used two of his arms to trap Alfor’s, raising his one remaining knife with the other two.

“Stupid child,” he said. “It’s over.”

“Alfor!” came his father’s alarmed and horrified voice.

“I am not a child,” Alfor gritted out. He carefully readjusted his grip on the gun, and prayed that his aim was true. “But you’re right. It is over.”

The blast of energy hit the Qadorian in the chest, which wasn’t the plan, but it did manage to knock him off Alfor and into a wall, where he slumped, unconscious. Alfor let out a breath until he realised in alarm that the gun had caught fire.

The gun had _caught fire_.

And Alfor was laying in an ever-spreading puddle of _very flammable fuel_.

 _Which was now also catching fire_.

Alfor quickly scrambled away, dropping the gun because it wasn’t like that would make things worse, everything was on fire anyway. He was glad his armour wasn’t flammable, and he’d long since made his undersuit fireproof as well–

He still caught sight of the flames on his arm and panicked.

“Quiznak, quiznak, _quiznak_ ,” he yelped, shaking his arm.

“Stay calm,” exclaimed Coran, who looked very close to panicking himself. “Put on your helmet before the flames spread to a part of you that can get burned, and you’ll be fine.”

Alfor summoned his helmet as calmly as he could manage and quickly put it on. He was suddenly very thankful for all of his many disasters in the lab and elsewhere that had led to him fireproofing his armour, because the flames were spreading to every bit of fuel on him.

“Alfor, come this way,” called his father. Now that their leader had been knocked out, the Qadorians seemed much less willing to fight. Not to mention it seemed many of them had been knocked out of killed in the battle. “We must leave.”

“I am on _fire_ ,” Alfor said. “I don’t see how you expect me to just walk over there.”

“There’s no time, kid, come on!” said Blaytz.

Alfor looked around for something, anything to help him. Whatever room the leader was in, another weird room, an airlock, another–

Before he could even think of a solution, he was suddenly doused in what seemed to be some sort of foam. He blinked in surprise. Fala, holding what looked somewhat similar to an Altean fire extinguisher, smiled sweetly at him.

“I thought that would work,” she said. “Glad it did. Come on, we have to get out of here.”

“Fala – you – when did you get here?” he asked, before realising belatedly she was wearing the same uniform as the other Altean soldiers, which answered his question.

“Kid, quit dawdling!” shouted Blaytz in annoyance.

“Right, yes,” he said. He glanced back hesitantly at the Qadorian leader, still unconscious.

“Leave him,” said Fala, grabbing his hand and dragging him away.

“But–” Alfor protested.

“She’s right,” said Coran.

Alfor pressed his lips together and nodded. He and Fala and Coran quickly joined the others and they took off away from the still-flaming fuel. Alfor was pretty sure the ship was going to explode pretty soon.

He was right. Not five doboshes after they’d loaded onto the ship Alfor’s father and the Alliance and Alteans had brought, the Qadorian ship exploded spectacularly behind them. Alfor watched sadly. He hadn’t meant for the Qadorian leader to die – for any of the Qadorians to die.

Coran finished wrapping bandages around his arm, something he’d started on as soon as they’d gotten on the ship. “You’re not hiding any other injuries?”

“No,” murmured Alfor. “I’m fine.”

He was startled by a hand on his shoulder. Alfor reached up to remove his helmet and turn to face his father. The stern expression did not bode well for Alfor’s chances of staying a member of the Alliance.

“Father, I…” he said awkwardly.

“You went off on your own again,” said Father.

Alfor lowered his head.

“It was reckless and stupid of you,” Father said. “But… in the end you did well. I believe the Qadorians will stop now. I know you didn’t want any of them to die. Take this as a lesson, my son. Acting without thinking almost always ends badly.”

“Yes, Father,” mumbled Alfor.

“Despite it all, I _am_ proud of you,” said Father, smiling fondly at him. Alfor looked up at him in surprise. “You have much to learn, but you are learning. Don’t worry. Your place with the Alliance is secure.”

Alfor’s heart swelled with relief, and he hugged his father. “Thank you, Father!”

Father laughed as he pulled back. “Well, then, now we both need to go wash up, don’t we? Come along, then. Luckily this ship has a decontamination room.”

Alfor smiled. “Lead the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys have no idea how long it took me to dig myself out of the hole I dug myself into writing this chapter. I researched flames in space for a while before scrapping that idea and bringing Fala in XD. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter!
> 
> Headcanons:  
> Alfor is a genius but also an idiot.  
> Alfor thinks Coran is a fantastic actor. Is he? Um, no, not really, but say that in front of Alfor and he will fight you.  
> Alfor blows things up and lights things on fire often, hence why his armour and suit are fireproof (and, fun fact, so is much of his usual outfit, because his lab is where he usually blows things up).  
> Fala kicks ass, fight me.
> 
> Also. Season six? MURDERED ME. GUYS HOLY QUIZNAK. AAAHHHH.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! <3


	15. Training: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon deciding that the Intrasystem Alliance is in serious need of teamwork skills, Alfor sets up several "team bonding" activities.

On the upside, the Qadorian bandits backed off after Alfor’s disaster mission. It was a victory, but for Alfor it was a bittersweet victory. He hadn’t wanted anyone to die, and yet a good number of Qadorians had. Worst of all, it was largely Alfor’s fault.

Zarkon had come up to him afterwards, clearly very uncomfortable and awkward.

“I am sorry for what I said,” he had said stiffly, before almost robotically patting Alfor on the shoulder. “Good work.”

Then he’d walked off. Father had chuckled and told him, “Emperor Zarkon is not particularly skilled with emotions.”

Alfor had just nodded and stared after his ally in bewilderment.

It was probably about then that Alfor decided the Alliance was in major need of some team bonding, and he was going to make that happen. 

Working together with Coran and Honerva made the preparation the easiest part. Alfor was kind of proud. He’d convinced his father to let him make some minor changes to the training deck, which actually meant adding a whole new feature. An invisible maze was certainly a good bonding activity if you asked Alfor. He’d gotten his hands on some old mind-meld helmets, typically used by the military to encourage bonding and cohesion among soldiers, and somewhat repurposed them to be used at a smaller level. He’d also gotten permission to use the gladiator bots for team combat training, which, honestly, he wasn’t looking forward to.

The difficult part was getting all the Alliance members to agree to the team bonding.

Blaytz was more than excited about the idea. Alfor wasn’t actually surprised by this, and he’d actually come to try to help set things up, except he wasn’t much help. Alfor wasn’t sure how his friend had this much time on his hands. His father was often pretty busy as the King of Altea, and surely Blaytz was busy as King of Nalquod.

Gyrgan was also all for team bonding. This was mildly more surprising, but Alfor was pleased to have the Rygnirathan’s support. Trigel was hesitant, but she agreed it was necessary.

“Especially,” she told Alfor, “for a certain Galran and Nalquodian.”

Yeah, Alfor wasn’t shocked by that.

The most difficult, by far and completely unsurprisingly, was Zarkon. His first excuse was that he was too busy. His second excuse was that it was unnecessary. His third excuse was that he wasn’t sure things wouldn’t explode on him, since Alfor built them (and Alfor had to physically restrain Coran from hopping in a pod and flying to Daibazaal to murder the Galran emperor for that comment, even though Alfor was fairly sure Zarkon didn’t mean anything by it).

Then, not long after that offhanded comment, Zarkon called _Alfor_ to tell him he would agree to come for team bonding. He looked surprisingly abashed, which is what convinced Alfor that Coran had called him and yelled at him. Alfor had half-expected this, so he didn’t say anything to Coran about it.

So they arranged a date for everyone to come to Altea for team bonding. Alfor was excited – he still hadn’t had much of a chance to really get to know his teammates besides Blaytz. Gyrgan was kind, but that was most of what Alfor knew about him. Trigel was somewhat strict but generally likable and friendly. Zarkon – well, Alfor was fairly certain Zarkon didn’t like him, but he could hopefully change that.

His teammates were all arriving at roughly the same time, so Alfor waited for them in the visitor hangar. Blaytz’s ship was the first to arrive – he’d taken a small Nalquodian pod, so he’d evidently come alone, which was fairly common for him. He jumped out and Alfor had only a few ticks to prepare himself before his friend had lifted him off his feet in a tight hug.

“Kid! Good to see you, it’s been too long!” he said brightly.

“You were here last movement, Blaytz,” Alfor laughed.

“Yeah, but I’ve been doing boring king stuff back on Nalquod,” he said, thankfully putting Alfor back on the ground. “It’s nice to take a break. Team bonding! It’ll be fun!”

“Yes, I hope so,” Alfor agreed.

Trigel and Gyrgan arrived at basically the same time. Gyrgan greeted both Blaytz and Alfor with a simultaneous hug. Trigel stood back and offered them a smile.

“It is good to see you both!” said Gyrgan jovially.

“I look forward to seeing what you’ve organised, Prince Alfor,” said Trigel.

Zarkon was the last to arrive. He was stiff and scowling as he walked over to them, but Alfor was pretty sure that was his normal expression, so he didn’t take it as a bad sign yet.

“Hello, Zarkon,” Alfor greeted.

“Prince Alfor,” Zarkon said. “So. What is this team bonding you have devised?”

Alfor brightened. “Well, I came up with three different activities we can do. I created an invisible maze that we can guide each other through in order to practice our trust in each other, and I redesigned the mind-meld helmets we have in order to use them to connect on a deeper and more meaningful level. I also got my father’s permission to use the gladiator bots for team combat training. Which would you like to do first?”

“Combat training,” said Zarkon automatically.

“Hell yeah, combat training!” agreed Blaytz – shockingly, since Blaytz and Zarkon rarely agreed about anything.

“Combat training would be a good exercise,” said Trigel. Gyrgan, beside her, nodded.

Alfor should have seen this coming.

“Combat training,” he said with fake enthusiasm, plastering on an equally fake smile. “Excellent. That’s exactly what I thought you’d say. Follow me.”

 

 

Alfor put Coran in charge of the controls, because for some reason, he thought he could trust his oldest friend.

He was so, horribly wrong.

“Hello, Intrasystem Alliance!” Coran greeted over the intercom system. Zarkon frowned. Blaytz grinned. Neither reaction was surprising. “You guys are a team! That means that you have to rely on each other in battle – you have to be able to put the lives of your teammates before yourself. Now, a swarm of drones is about to attack! It’s up to each of you to do your best to protect your teammates!”

“A swarm of drones?” Alfor repeated in alarm. That had not been the plan. The plan had been to fight the gladiator bots – oh, dear, yes, there were the drones.

The drones started shooting at them. Blaytz dodged to the side in alarm, which, evidently, was the wrong action, because the shot hit Zarkon from behind. The Galra turned to yell at the Nalquodian, only for the floor to open under him. He disappeared into the darkness.

“Protect your teammates or they won’t be able to protect you!” warned Coran.

“Coran!” exclaimed Alfor, deflecting a laser with his sword.

“It would help if we had shields,” grunted Trigel.

“Good point,” said Coran, as Gyrgan disappeared into the floor. “For next round then!”

“This was not the plan!” Alfor yelled. Unfortunately, before he could protest more, a laser hit him in the chest – which hurt, by the way, that was going to leave a bruise – and the ground vanished from under him. He hit the ground and rubbed his head. Zarkon glowered at him.

“What was that?” he said.

“Not my fault,” said Alfor. “We will fight the gladiator bots next, that was the plan from the beginning but apparently Coran had other ideas.”

Alfor was saved from any more criticisms from Zarkon when Blaytz fell from the ceiling and landed between them. Trigel fell shortly after.

“Well, that was unpleasant,” he muttered.

“It’s your fault for not even wearing a shirt,” Alfor said.

“Shush,” said Blaytz.

Alfor led them back to the training room once more. Coran was in there; he offered them wristbands.

“Shields,” he said brightly.

“Maybe next time,” said Alfor, even though he wasn’t sure there would be a next time the way things were going. “This time we’re going to fight the gladiator bots.”

“I’ll have the medical team on standby, then,” said Coran.

Alfor made a face at him, and his friend laughed and jogged out of the room to return to the controls. Alfor was fairly certain he could get through this without needing medical care afterwards – well, at least not any more than first aid.

Three gladiators fell from the ceiling to fight them. Alfor was really not looking forward to this.

He stuck close to Blaytz. One of the gladiators split off to focus on them, and the other two had the bad luck to face Zarkon, Trigel, and Gyrgan. Alfor raised his sword to parry a blow from the gladiator’s staff, and Blaytz, while the gladiator seemed distracted, came around for a blow from behind with one of his swords. Unfortunately for both of them, the gladiator broke free of both of them, knocked Alfor off his feet, and blocked Blaytz’s attack in a few smooth motions. Alfor kicked his leg out to set the bot off balance, but it spun and caught Alfor in the side of the head with its staff. Alfor blinked back dark spots.

He really was sick of getting hit in the head.

Blaytz responded to this by cutting off the bot’s arm, then stabbing his other sword through its abdomen. The bot shut down, sparking as it fell to the round. Alfor rubbed the forming bruise on the side of his head.

“That works, I guess,” he mumbled.

“You okay?” said Blaytz.

“Yep,” said Alfor, “let’s help the others.”

The others didn’t really need much help. They’d already done away with the first bot – for the record, the goal had not been to destroy the bots. Alfor should have expected it, but if these had been real enemies – well, Alfor pitied them as he grimaced at the remains of the first bot Zarkon, Trigel, and Gyrgan had defeated.

“Need a hand?” said Blaytz brightly, jumping into the fight eagerly.

“Not from you,” grunted Zarkon.

“I turned up the level on the last bot,” Coran chirped from the controls. Alfor scowled up at his friend.

“We noticed,” said Trigel.

Alfor was about to bite out a comment about never letting his friend help with training ever again, but his attention was drawn back to the fight when he had to parry a blow from the gladiator. In truth, there wasn’t much point to training if it wasn’t a challenge, so Alfor couldn’t be too mad. It only took the five of them a few more dobashes to defeat the bot – Alfor wasn’t much help on that front, but considering he got out of the entire exercise with no more than a bruised head, he figured he did fairly well.

“We could use some work,” grunted Zarkon.

“Well,” said Trigel, “I suppose that means we need to train together more often.”

“You mentioned you had other training exercises, Prince Alfor?” said Gyrgan.

Alfor brightened. At last, the parts he had been looking forward to. “Yes, indeed – and please, friend, it’s just Alfor. The trust maze and the mind-meld.”

“The maze sounds fun,” said Blaytz.

Alfor beamed. “I should hope so, I designed it myself.”

“Oh, no,” said Zarkon before he could stop himself, unable to mask his dread. Alfor would have been incredibly insulted if it weren’t for the fact that _he_ knew how often his experiments backfired. Still, surely Zarkon hadn’t known him long enough – or gotten to know him well enough – to be aware of this.

Even Alfor wasn’t expecting the drone to appear and zap Zarkon from behind. The Galran looked livid. Alfor took a moment to pray that his best friend would have time to hide somewhere.

“Play nice with your teammates, Zar!” called Coran. The look on Zarkon’s face in response to that was fairly amusing. “Can I call you Zar? Well, I’m going to! And anyway, don’t worry, we made sure it wouldn’t blow up!”

“I thought he was on my side,” grumbled Alfor in betrayal.

Blaytz patted him on the shoulder. “We know you too well to ever be completely on your side, kid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! Once again, it's been awhile, and I'm sorry about that, but here is a new chapter! It's not the chapter I was originally so excited for (just wait, the invisible maze is going to be so much fun), but it was a fun one nonetheless. Alfor isn't as much of a disaster as usual? Shocking. 
> 
> Headcanons in this chapter:  
> Yes, Alfor built the maze.   
> The mind-meld helmets were kind of weird, and I spent a while trying to decide where they came from. I figured using them in the military was as plausible an explanation as any.  
> Zarkon is wary of this small, enthusiastic, disaster Altean and does not know how to handle him.  
> Coran will fight you if you're mean to Alfor, even if you're the emperor of the Galra.   
> The drone exercise was all Coran.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter!! <3


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